


Farewell Transmission

by Saccharine_Ghosts



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mention of Underage/Non-Con, Multi, Nightmares, Outlast: Whistleblower, Past Lisa Park/Walon Park, Past Lynn Langermann/Blake Langermann, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Trauma Husbands, Voyeurism, coming to terms, mlm author, this is a lot of head canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saccharine_Ghosts/pseuds/Saccharine_Ghosts
Summary: Freedom, they had decided, could be used leniently in their situation.Sure, they were free from the confines of Mount Massive Asylum and Temple Gate, but they were not free from the clutches of Murkoff or the traumatic memories that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.But at least they have each other, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Outlast writers are far and few between, I hope the few of you that actually take time out of your day to think about Outlast will enjoy this, and give me some of your head canons and feedback as well. There isn't enough hype for this series.
> 
> Farewell Transmission ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=malJUMz2A9Y

LEADVILLE – 6 MILES

Waylon’s chest hadn’t stopped heaving, his mind not yet calm, still racing from the unrelenting horror he had just experienced. He read every sign that went by, every license plate he saw, counted every fast-food place he passed, but he was yet to completely ground himself. Any minute he felt he would pass out at the wheel of the old red Jeep and wake up back in the asylum, caught in Gluskin’s grasp with no way of escape. Not only was he haunted by images of the inmates from Mount Massive, but also by the subtle yet screaming reminders of who’s car he was in, and why it was there. 

On the seat beside him was a small stash of empty energy drink cans, a laptop bag, and a leather wallet, all belonging to one Miles Upshur. Miles, just twenty-three, and potentially gone forever. His life thrown away all because Waylon couldn’t have taken that extra step to be careful, had to rush his way through things like he always had. Lisa had always said that, told him that he was rushing his way through life and one day it’d be gone and he wouldn’t be able to remember what happened. 

Oh god, did he ever wish that was true. 

He kept telling himself, repeating like a mantra, that Miles would have come eventually. He said technically he wasn’t leaving the man behind because there was no way that the Jeep could have made that sharp turn, so Miles, or the Walrider, must have helped him. The younger man could have stopped the car by force, or called out, or not stopped Jeremy Blaire from taking Waylon down with Murkoff and just left on his own.

That’s what Waylon told himself. 

LEADVILLE – 3 MILES

Heading into town was the closest thing to a plan that he could come up with right now. Maybe if he got changed out of his torn and bloody jumpsuit and into some normal clothes he could go get some food, a drink, maybe even relax in a bed for a bit. 

He pulled off into a hiking trail parking lot, reaching into the backseat to pull out Miles’ gym bag from the backseat. He’d never really seen any pictures of Miles’ before, but when the man stood before him, Walrider surrounding him in inky blackness, he knew it could only be him. Luckily the man wasn’t too much bigger than Waylon, so he was able to tie the athletic shorts around his waste and tug on the oversized hoodie without looking too ridiculous. 

LEADVILLE – 2 MILES

No matter what, even in Miles’ gym attire, he still felt like they would know. The stench of the asylum was surrounding him, suffocating him like someone was feeding exhaust fumes through the vents, overpowering the smell of sweat and body spray that coated the clothes and interior of the car. He tried to calm himself, counting each kilometer that had gone by since he roared out of the asylum’s driveway. 

Distance was good. Distance meant it was over, he was out of there, and all he had to deal with was Murkoff. He couldn’t help but wish Lisa were there - fiery Lisa with her confidence and intelligence that far surpassed Waylon’s own – who’s commitment to justice and righting-wrongs had gotten him out of many situations in the past. Waylon tried not to dwell on it, knowing full well that the next time he spoke to Lisa it would be to tell her to run and take the boys, and that would be the last time any of them spoke. 

LEADVILLE – 1 MILE

Pulling into a gas station, and putting the Jeep into park, he took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror. He had some minor lacerations on his face, a couple bruises, but the worst of it was his ankle and minor stab wound in his side. If it came down to it, he’d just say he had an accident at the gym, dropped a barbell on his foot or something.

But what if they saw his small, skinny body and knew he was lying? Leadville was a small town, surely they all know each other, what if they know he wasn’t at the gym? What if they question him? What if he blurts out something stupid? 

Again, he cursed himself for being so anxious. The more worked up he got, the more likely they were to ask questions. With another deep exhale, he pulled up next to a pump and pulled a couple crumpled bills from Miles’ wallet, but not all, and got out of the car.

The bells on the door were unexpected, making him jump slightly, and again when the girl behind the counter popped her bubble gum loudly. She looked young, around fifteen or sixteen, and was currently lost in a teen magazine with a boy band on the front, twirling a lock of her strawberry blonde hair between two fingers.

“Uh - thirty f-for the Jeep, please,” He held out two twenties and grabbed a couple of pepperoni sticks Lisa never let him eat and a can of pop, but the girl only reacted when he cleared his throat. With one swift motion she used her free hand to open the register and take the cash, all whilst not looking up from her magazine. With an inaudible sigh of relief Waylon took a slow step back from the counter, then limped back to fill up the car, eager to get back behind the wheel and further away from the asylum. 

“Not from around here?” A deep voice grumbled, making Waylon jolt and almost pull the gas pump from the tank. 

“Y-Yes? I mean – Yeah. How did you know?” 

The man was tall, much taller than Waylon, and had grey sprinkled throughout his dark brown hair and beard. He had an unlit cigarette perched between his teeth, that Waylon hoped he was saving for when he was back on the road. How tragic it would be to die at the hands of an idiot with a cigarette after making it out of Mount Massive practically unharmed. 

“Your license plates,” He motioned to the back of the Jeep, “And your sweater, plus there’s not too many of your kind around here, you know?” Ignoring the comment that may or may not have been a little racist, Waylon stole a glance towards the license plate, then down at the University of Texas emblem he hadn’t noticed on his chest. 

“Yeah, just passing through,” he paused for a second to think, “Just – um – visiting some family in Salt Lake City.” 

“Well you sure picked the right time of year to visit,” he smiled toothily, revealing rows of yellowing teeth. Waylon prayed silently for the gas to finish, so he could head on his way, but suddenly realized he had no idea where his way was. 

“Sorry, I haven’t spent a lot of time around here, do you know where I can find a motel? Something cheap, just for the night.” 

“There’s a Super 8 just up ahead. Keep going straight and you’ll find it,” as he spoke he pulled a lighter from his back pocket, making Waylon rush that much more to put the pump back. “Can’t miss it.” 

“Thanks so much,” He waved a small goodbye, setting his meal of Slim-Jims and Coke on the passenger seat before sliding in himself. He had made contact with the outside world, with real people who didn’t want to eat or dismember him, and his fuel gage was slowly rising from empty to full. 

As he pulled out of the parking lot, unrolling a pepperoni stick and taking a large bite, he couldn’t help but feel a small wave of relief. 

LEADVILLE – NEXT EXIT

The man at the motel gave him a small glance as he limped in, but kept strict eye contact when he realized it was impolite to stare. He quickly paid with Miles’ credit card and made his way to the room where he collapsed on the bed, ignoring the sting in his left side. 

The moment his head hit the pillow, his eyes locked with the phone on the bedside table. One call was all he had left, so when would he make it? He couldn’t risk making it now; it would have to be tomorrow before he left. If he did it too soon they could trace his call back to the motel, he would have to be strategic. Right now he couldn’t move, he was exhausted and needed at least a few hours of sleep or just closing his eyes before he could get anywhere, not to mention the persistent pain warning him of an oncoming infection in his ankle that needed to be taken care of sooner than later. 

Surprisingly, sleep took him. Not fitful or light, not deep and peaceful, it was serene yet tense. Waylon didn’t know if he would ever feel relaxation again, but he could find some comfort in the ticking clock on the wall letting him know that time had really passed since he left, it wasn’t just an illusion. 

~~~

“Park.” 

_‘Ugh, it’s so early. I’m so hung-over.’_

“Park, wake up.” 

_‘Doesn’t he know we don’t have class today?'_

“God dammit, Park, get off your ass!” He shoved his shoulder. 

“Trent, god, five more minutes…” Waylon rubbed his eyes, turning over with a yawn that was interrupted when he was jolted awake, having caught sight of who had woken him up that was definitely not his university roommate. 

“I’m not your boyfriend, or husband, or whatever, so get up, lazy sack of shit. It’s noon already.” 

He was tall and lean, not skinny like Waylon though, and had dark mahogany locks that were a bit out of place. The man was young too, yet his eyes had a dark, sunken-in look, and when Waylon looked down he found only eight fingers where there should have been ten. 

This must be Miles. 

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Waylon jumped off the bed, picking the lamp off the bedside table. 

“Woah buddy, cool it, you think you’re gonna fight me off with a motel lamp?” Miles huffed, “Just put the damn thing down and let me talk.” 

Hesitantly, Waylon placed the lamp back on the surface and smoothed his hands over the front of his hoodie while Miles gave him a once over. 

“Miles, right? Miles Upshur?” 

“The one and only.” How Miles managed to smirk cheekily at a moment like this was lost to Waylon, “And you’re Waylon Park? The one who sent the email?” 

They locked eyes and Waylon’s stomach dropped, realizing the conversation he had been dreading happening – that he thought would never happen – was finally here. Looking at Miles now was a chore, his fingers, and his sunken-in face, his boyish good looks ruined and replaced with something sickly. Miles looked sick, and it was Waylon’s fault. 

“You’re so young…” Waylon whispered, more to himself than Miles, “What the fuck did I do…” 

“You didn’t know,” Miles shot back immediately, “If not me than some other poor bastard, maybe even younger, so don’t worry about it. The deed is done.” The younger man took a step towards Waylon but didn’t move around the bed to get closer, “We need to talk about where to go from here, we don’t have much time though.” 

“Murkoff knows where we are?” 

“Did you use my credit card?” 

“Yeah,”

“Then yes.” Miles peeked out the window, “And thanks, by the way, not only do I have to pay for student loans but I’ve also got you racking up my credit card debt and wearing my hand-me-downs.” 

Waylon shot him an exasperated look. 

“I know, I know, no time for jokes.” Miles shut the blinds, “Grab whatever you brought in from the car, we’ll talk on the road.” 

As much as he was trying to ignore the searing in his ankle, Waylon was finding it increasingly difficult to get around, and Miles must have noticed. As Waylon threw the gym bag over his shoulder and limped towards the door the taller man was suddenly in front of him, a hand to his chest. 

“What’s wrong with your leg?” 

“Nothing, it’s fine.” 

“If you went through all that shock and you’re limping that bad, it’s sure as hell not fine. Sit on the bed, I’ll get the first aid kit.” 

Waylon reluctantly did as he was told, sitting up on the edge of the bed and pulling his sock and peeled of his bloody sock to reveal the ghastly wound in his ankle as Miles disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned his face didn’t change, even as it began gushing blood again.

Miles was gentle. Perhaps he was just a gentle person, although he certainly didn’t look it, but he was certainly one now. With four fingers, he gently grasped below the wound to get a better look, and used his free hand to open the first aid kit and pull out the peroxide. 

“This is going to hurt, sorry.” 

Did it ever. Waylon bit down hard on his cheek, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. Miles lost two fucking fingers and so far he hadn’t complained, he deserved the same treatment. 

“Who’s Trent?” 

“… What?” 

“When I woke you up you called me Trent, who is that?” 

“My old roommate,” he hissed through his teeth, “I think I was having a dream I was back at Berkeley.” 

“Got anybody at home then?” Miles began wrapping the wound, “No offense, but you look like you’ve been out of school for a while.” 

“Asian genetics are beginning to fail me,” the older man huffed out a laugh, “A wife, Lisa, and two boys, Isaac and Ethan.” He couldn’t help but notice Miles’ face twitch at the mention of Lisa, but he didn’t look up from his job.

“How old are your boys?” 

“Isaac’s almost fifteen, Ethan is twelve.” 

Miles paused, looking up from his torn ankle. 

“Apparently you’re older than I thought.” 

“So my genetics haven’t failed me quite yet.” He chuckled, “I’m thirty-six.” 

The brunette paused a bit, but hastily finished the dressings on his ankle.

“Hopefully you won’t slow us down then, right?” Miles grinned, “That Jeremy prick stabbed you, let me see.” 

It was different this time. The wound was shallow so it would be quick, but having another human so close in such a quiet setting was so… uncomfortable. Waylon had never been a touchy person, but he’d never been a closed-off one either. 

"Ugh, why do I feel like I've been hit by a car?" Waylon moaned. 

"That's what happens when you pull a three-nighter, then finally catch some sleep." 

He laid back on the bed, pulling the sweater up just enough to reveal the wound, but not any further out of self-consciousness. Miles had rolled up his sleeves and was hovering over him, which was all the distraction he needed to take away from the pain of disinfecting the stab wound. He knew it was silly, but just from the toned muscles in his arms and shoulders alone Waylon could see Miles was much larger than himself, who had always had trouble keeping on weight. 

“What about you?” Waylon murmured, “Anybody at home?” 

“A cat,” Miles shot back, “I gave her to my senile next door neighbour before I left, so I guess the answer is no.” 

“I pegged you as more of a dog person.” 

“Already started the psycho-analysis, eh?” He chuckled, “I am. She showed up on my fire escape a year ago and I couldn’t say no,” He stepped back off the bed to let Waylon up, “You could say I have a thing for strays.” 

They wrapped things up quickly, grabbing the few things Waylon had brought in from the car and loading it up. Miles insisted on driving, saying he knew where to go and what they were to do, and Waylon had no choice but to trust him. 

“Can I make a call before we go?” The blond asked, “I need to call Lisa, tell her what’s up.” 

“They’ll trace it.” 

“I know,” Waylon practically whispered, “You said they probably already know where we were, they know where she is, I just have to tell her to leave. I just need to say goodbye.” 

Miles nodded, stoic yet sympathetic. Waylon didn’t know what he would have done if the man said no, probably do it anyway, but he’s glad he let him. Miles seemed reasonable, maybe because he was so young, so he hoped they would get along in the next while. 

They’d be seeing a lot of each other. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had used a rotary phone, but that was all he had available to him. Shakily he dialled the house phone, but nobody picked up. It took him two more tries to remember Lisa’s cell, but he eventually got through.

“Hello?” 

She sounded the same as ever. He didn’t even notice he had forgotten what to say completely until she spoke again. 

“Listen, if you’re prank calling again-“ 

“Lisa, it’s me.”

There was a pause. 

“Waylon?” 

“Yes! Yeah, honey, I can't talk long-” 

“W-Where have you been? Where are you? Are you coming home soon, the boys have been asking-“ 

“Lisa, I don’t have a lot of time. Murkoff is tracking me, probably you too, as we speak. Get Isaac and Ethan and leave. Just go somewhere they won’t find you.” He held the phone tighter to his face as if it could convey it back to his wife. 

“When will we hear from you again?” He could hear her shuffling around, moving to the boy’s room. “You’re phoning me, that means you’ve been released.” 

“I don’t know,” he tried to keep his voice calm but he could feel a tight knot in his throat, “Tell the boys I love them.” 

“Waylon, you can’t do this.” 

“I have no choice.” 

“My ass you have no choice!” She sounded angry but Waylon knew she was only scared, “Will you just get back here, please. We’ll leave as soon as you come.”

“I’m sorry, Lisa.” 

“Don’t do this,” the tears had finally arrived from both ends, “Don’t do this to us, Waylon.” 

“Bye, Lisa, I love you so much.” He hung up before she could get another word in, staring down at the numbers at the rotary dial. It would be so easy to pick up the phone, tell her he was coming, that maybe he could get there before Murkoff could, but he couldn’t. He knew Miles was right, they were on their way, and it could already be too late.

He couldn’t risk it. 

Slowly he made his way back to the car, wiping tears from his face and hopefully the deep-set frown in his features. Luckily for him, Miles seemed to know he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t question the tear tracks or the way he slumped into his seat and stared aimlessly out the window, he just did what Miles does best.

“Ugh, took you long enough.” He turned the car on, backing out of the motel parking lot, “What do you say we make some space between us and the mountain, then we stop for some clothes?” 

Waylon stayed quiet. 

“As much as I enjoy watching you swim around in my clothes, they smell like the gym and aren’t doing much to keep you warm.”

“Are you saying I smell?” 

Miles grinned over at Waylon, still staring out the window but now with a small smirk on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “T-They were convinced she was pregnant…” he sobbed between wracks of his body, “Fuck, they even convinced _me_ she was pregnant, I thought I was going insane!” 
> 
> “I know, Blake, I know the feeling.” It was meant to be reassuring, but Miles didn’t know how good of a job he did. “Who was there?” 
> 
> “Fucking psychopaths,” he wailed, “Inbred fucking mutants! Cannibals! The whole set, Miles!” He clutched the smaller man’s jacket, pulling him closer, “Half of them wanted us dead, they thought the baby was the antichrist – thought we were fucking holy or something!”

Waylon was never talkative. It was always Trent that did the talking when he was at Berkeley, taking pity on the nerdy freshman, and eventually introducing him to Lisa who took Trent’s place as Waylon’s mouth when they parted ways. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Miles was a talker, but it worked for him. It wasn’t annoying, Miles just had a way with words that showed he was meant to be a journalist, a quick whit and charismatic personality that gave him a charm Waylon was jealous of, and it made the drive that much easier on them both. 

Things were quiet now, the radio turned off and neither men speaking. Waylon had been nodding off earlier, so maybe Miles noticed and turned the music off out of courtesy. Still, Waylon heard a soft hum in the air, a static charge like standing beside power lines that was keeping him awake. He blamed it on the old Jeep, or maybe he was just imagining it, but he was enjoying just watching the road roll by and the soft light bouncing off Miles face. He looked younger now, younger than he had in the motel. Maybe because he was relaxed, or as relaxed as he could be, but Waylon couldn’t quite tell. 

“Where are we going?” He stretched his back with a loud pop and yawn. 

“To visit a friend, his name’s Juan,” Miles didn’t bother doing a shoulder check as he passed over into the next lane; they hadn’t seen a car for a long while. “Back a few years ago when I got in trouble for the Afghanistan report, he was the one who bailed me out, helped me with all the legal shit, even got me to quit smoking, he’s a miracle worker.” They didn’t slow as Miles took a bit of a sharp turn, making Waylon grip the door handle a little tighter. 

“What about after that?” 

“I don’t really know, to tell you the truth.” Miles shrugged, “Juan will probably give me a place to stay, you’re more than welcome to come, but I know you’ll probably want to see your family.” 

“I can’t,” The blond interjected, “I can’t put them in danger like that.” 

“Then tell you what,” Miles looked at him, “Come meet Juan, we’ll see about getting someplace to stay and then we can figure everything out. Maybe he can find your lady a place to stay too. Sound like a plan?” 

Waylon nodded, letting Miles turn back to the road in front of them. They passed the Colorado border into New Mexico a few miles back, but still Waylon hadn’t shaken that hum that filled the air ever since he got in the car with Miles.

“Why didn’t you come too?” 

Miles shot him a confused look. 

“You let me take the Jeep, or do you not remember?” 

“No, I remember.” He sighed and slumped back into the seat, “I didn’t really have control of the Walrider, and I didn’t know what it was capable of. When it took me, I felt like I was being eaten alive, I didn’t know whether I was going to make it or not, so I thought it was best I let you go, so at least somebody could tell the story.” 

SANTA FE – 90 MILES

“I thought they were all fucking crazy…” Waylon whispered, “When it took Blaire I thought I was imagining it. So you have it under control now?” 

“In a way,” Miles grimaced, “It’s… dormant.” 

Waylon frowned. 

“What do you mean, dormant?”

“The government officers shot me, it took them out. It saw Blaire attack you, it decided to help. It recognized Blaire and the guards as a threat so it protected me.” 

“Wait – hold on – they shot you?” 

“I think the Walrider is the only thing keeping me alive right now, as you can see it kind of spoiled my good looks.” Miles spoke as he read the street signs trying to look for the exit, “But it likes you. It knows you were trying to help.” 

“I can hear it,” Waylon reached over and put a hand on the brunette’s arm, “I thought I was imagining it, but it’s you.” As he made contact the humming got a bit stronger. 

“It’s purring.” Miles pulled into a gas station parking lot and turned off the engine, turning towards Waylon. “It wasn’t this loud until you showed up. It says you’re the Whistleblower.” When Waylon looked confused he shrugged again, “I’m just the messenger boy, I don’t know what that means.” 

Waylon nodded like he understood, but really he had no idea. The thought of the timeless being liking him was worrying, because who knew what that entailed. It seemed calm, but it was a chaotic creature, or spirit, or whatever it was, with a violent streak. He could only imagine the lengths they were willing to take to get the morphogenic engine to function how they wanted it to and how that affected the Walrider and Billy. 

“I’ll pump, you pay?” Miles broke his thoughts, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

“Yeah, sure, do you want anything?” 

“Red Bull,” He pulled a few crumpled bills from his wallet, “And a carton of Marlboro Reds.” 

“I thought you quit smoking?” The blond quipped with a smirk as he took the bills. 

“I’m taking full advantage of this Walrider situation.” Miles grinned back, “Plus after this week, I could really use a smoke.” 

~~~

Social anxiety had been running Waylon’s life for years now. Work was fine, all he had to do was speak to somebody over the phone, have them show him the computer, and then accept their money and thanks on his way out the door. It was friends that he had trouble with, there weren’t many men his age that he shared interests in, with his obscure taste in music and obsessive love for old cult movies, and stumbling to find the right words out of nervousness didn’t help his case. 

It’s funny how things like that went out the window when you were running for your lives. Waylon felt like he had known Miles for years. 

“Will you-“ Miles reached across the console and tried pressing the radio dial again, but Waylon quickly slapped his hand away. 

“I’m driving, I pick the music.” 

“I’m tired of… What the hell is this even?” Miles huffed and pushed his seat back so he could put his feet back on the dashboard. 

“Pavement. It’s Pavement.” 

“Well I’ve had enough of your nineties dad rock, Waylon.” Again he tried to turn off the radio, but the older man beat him to it. 

“We’re almost there anyway, just tell me where to go.” 

Miles led Waylon to a shady looking dive bar just outside of Phoenix. There were no signs outside, just a single street light and a few cars. The inside was fairly full, lots of rough-looking characters spilling their pints or smoking cigarettes over a game of pool. Waylon couldn’t ever see clean-cut Miles hanging out at a place like this, but it was apparently where his connection, Juan, wanted to meet. 

The blond hid behind the younger man as he lit a cigarette and moved towards one of the booths at the far side of the bar. This was obviously Juan, who looked just as out of place as Waylon did. His hair was neatly cut, wearing tight jeans and a striped shirt Waylon was sure he owned back in his house in Boulder. 

_“Miles,”_ He smiled widely and affectionately, revealing a straight set of perfectly white teeth that contrasted with his tan skin, “I can’t say I am happy to see you, I know it means something is wrong. And you look like shit.” His accent was thick and Waylon had trouble distinguishing his words, but Miles seemed to have no problem. 

“Thanks, y’know, I’m a busy boy,” he slid into the booth whilst pulling Waylon with him, “It’s never been like this, Jay, you have no idea.” He paused, moving in like somebody else might hear the conversation, “Murkoff.” 

“Damn,” Juan took a sip of his beer, “I didn’t even know you were still on their case.” 

“Well, that was the whole point, but now they know so we need a place to go,” he motioned towards Waylon, “Completely under the radar preferably.” 

“Can be arranged,” Juan nodded while taking another measured sip, “Did Murkoff take your fingers as well, or do I even want to know?” 

“Not just my fingers,” he shook his head, “You have _no idea_ how deep this goes, Jay. I don’t even want to tell you in case you get involved too. I barely made it out myself,” He motioned to a waitress then turned back to the table, “This is Waylon Park. Waylon,” he motioned to the man across from him, “Juan Hernández.” 

“Murkoff did you dirty too?” 

Waylon nodded. 

“I’m very sorry for you then, Mr. Park. I’ll try and find you and Upshur somewhere comfortable.” 

“T-Thanks man,” Waylon stammered, “Miles said something about you maybe being able to help my wife and kids too?” 

The waitress finally came by, and Miles ordered a whiskey for himself.

“I could. What’s her name?” 

“Lisa, Lisa Park. S-She took my two boys out of Bolder yesterday, I don’t know where they went after that.” 

“I’ll look for them,” Juan assured him, “As for you two, I have a place you can stay up in Oregon, if you feel like a road trip.” 

“Anything to get some distance between us and those fuck-wads, you could put me in a crate and ship me off to Somalia for all I care-“ his angry tirade was interrupted by the waitress coming by with his whisky on the rocks and a water for Waylon. 

“Anything else I can get you boys?” As she spoke, she leant down with her elbows against the table, obviously exposing her cleavage to Waylon and Miles’ direction. Waylon had to advert his eyes, it felt wrong, so wrong, especially since he just recently said goodbye to his wife. 

“Y’know what, sweetheart, we could really use some of those garlic fries Brody used to make,” he leaned in too, chin resting on his hands to look up at her through his long lashes and hide his missing finger, “Still servin’ ‘em?” 

“Of course,” she smiled, “I’ll be right back.” 

“I hope,” the brunette grinned cheekily, waving goodbye as she sauntered away with an extra sway to her hips. Juan laughed and prodded Miles’ shoulder from across the booth, making the younger man chuckle as well. Waylon felt like he was missing some kind of inside joke, but it didn’t seem like one had been made. He sipped his lukewarm water and watched Miles take a big gulp of his whiskey with a hiss, holding his cigarette off to one side of the glass. From the time they got in the car in Leadville to the time they got out in Phoenix, something had changed in him. Although he still looked tired and worn, as thirty-six hours in a car does to you, he was glowing now, vibrant almost. His skin had regained colour and the dark circles and pronounced veins had subsided. If it weren’t for the missing fingers, he would look like any other kid fresh out of university. 

“Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” Juan stated, “But be kind to Sheila, you know how she is,” he pulled a laptop out of the bag and onto the grungy table in front of him, opening it up and typing away. “I’ll set up the place, how long are you in town?” 

“Just tonight, why?” 

“I had another come to me a couple days back, sounded like a Murkoff issue,” his brow furrowed as he furiously clicked the track pad, “Langermann.” 

“Lynn’s here?” Miles suddenly became serious, leaning in. Instinctively, so did Waylon.

“No man,” Juan said sombrely, _“Just Blake.”_

“Oh shit,” Miles ran a hand through his hair, “Oh _shit,_ Jay, what the fuck happened?”

“He couldn’t even tell me, just asked for a place to go.” He shut his computer, “He just kept saying _‘she’s gone, she’s gone’_ but I have no idea what that means. Said there were people outside the canyon, some sort of experimental facility.” 

“Maybe I can talk to him, where is he?” 

“I gave him a room at Motel 6 off Robson and First, but be careful, Miles,” he packed the computer away, “You’re not the most… empathetic.” 

“Here are your fries. Brody says they’re on the house for an old buddy,” Sheila placed them down in front of them with a wink, “How long you in town for, Miles?” 

“Just passing through, we’ll be gone by morning,” he shoved a couple fries into his mouth and huffed when he realized they were too hot. 

‘Real smooth, Casanova.’ Waylon smirked, glad to see him not so suave for once. 

“Shame,” she pouted, “‘was gonna see if you wanted to come back to my place after my shift.” 

“Maybe next time, honey,” he winked and finished his whiskey, snuffing out his cigarette that was already threatening the filter. “We should be on our way, Motel 6 got vacancy?” 

“Plenty,” Juan nodded as they stood from the booth, “Blake’s in number twenty-six. Oh, and Park-“ he grabbed Waylon’s hand as they walked away, “I’ll find your wife and kids, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” Waylon shook the man’s hand, “Please let me know when hear something.” 

Miles seemed to know his way around town pretty well, so he drove them to the motel. The music was up, slow and melodic, but the Walrider’s static hum was obvious above it, dull but pricking the air like lightening was about to strike. 

“You’re tense,” Waylon frowned, “Who’s this Blake guy?” 

“A friend. I worked a few cases with him and his wife when I was in school, they tried to help me get my foot in the door.” 

“I’m sorry then, if she’s gone.” 

“Be sorry for him,” he shook his head, “I’ve never met anybody as committed as Blake. Him and Lynn weren’t on the best terms last time I checked, but he still loved her. He’s a good guy,” his eyes become slightly glossy, “Lynn was a good woman.” 

Way decided not to press any further. It was obviously a tough subject, Miles seemed quite close to the couple. It sounded like they were into journalism, maybe they made the same mistake Miles did, got in a little too deep on a case and Murkoff had to dispose of them. He couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, and also a bit lucky. Sure, he couldn’t see his wife, but at least she was still alive. 

“I’ll go talk to him. Do you want to get a room or wait for me to help?” 

Already Miles had picked up on his anxious nature. 

“It’s no problem,” the older man assured him, “Just be careful, don’t rattle him like you did to me.” 

~~~

The knocks on the door startled Blake from his dissociative state. He froze in place, clutching his injured hands to his chest, unable to move. Never had he felt like this before. He was a large man, always the one to kill the spiders and answer the door at home, but he felt completely helpless knowing there were things in life out to get him other than arachnids and teenagers playing ding-dong-ditch.

“Blake!”

How did they find him? He was shaking now, clutching his hands even tighter to the point where they were probably bleeding again. 

“Blake, you in there?” 

He had to hide. He had to be someplace other than here, but he couldn’t move. 

“Langermann! It’s Miles! Miles Upshur! Answer your goddamn door!” 

Blake sat stock still for a moment, the name running through his mind. It couldn’t really be Miles, could it? 

Suddenly he was at his feet in front of the door. It was stupid, he knew it, but the prospect of somebody he knows, that he felt safe with and comfortable, was too tempting to ignore. He opened the door a crack, taking in the sight of the younger man. 

He looked bigger now, broader in the shoulders. He finally filled out a frame, it didn’t look like he was drowning in the clothes that he bought to suit his height rather than his skinny maturing body. A comfortable looking jacket replaced old band tees with holes in the stomach, and tight skinny jeans had given way to looser fitting Wranglers that were more age-appropriate, but from his face Blake could see it was the same old handsome, suburban-born Miles.

“Miles…” he whispered, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Blakey.” 

Definitely Miles. 

He couldn’t have swung the door open fast enough, ignoring it as it bounced against the wall, handle probably leaving a dent. Miles didn’t have enough time to take a step back as the larger man lunged at him, winding his arms around the younger man’s neck like a vice and pulling him close to his chest, burying his head in his thick head of brown locks. 

“She’s gone, Miles,” he mumbled into the other man’s neck, “I couldn’t do anything, y-you have _no_ idea…” 

“I have some idea,” the brunette finally managed to react, snaking his arms around the other man’s waist, “I’m _so_ sorry, Blake, I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” they separated, Blake wiping the tears from his eyes but keeping a hand on Miles shoulder, like he would disappear if he didn’t. 

“Why are you here then? Did Juan send you?” 

“Yeah but-“ he looked around him, “It’s not safe to talk out here, let’s go inside.” 

The kitchen looked completely untouched, as did the bathroom, but the bedroom was a complete mess. Things were broken, clothes strewn about the room with obvious carelessness like it didn’t matter where they landed, and the pillowcases and towels laid on the bed looked sweat-soaked, as well as the sheets that were piled on the other side of the room. 

“Blake, how long have you been here, buddy? It’s a mess,” Miles picked a duffel bag off the ground and moved it out of the way to clear a path. 

“I just- I haven’t-“ Blake sighed, sitting down on the bed. “I haven’t left. I’ve been so scared to leave, I felt like if I left I’d be-“ he trailed off, “back in that place.” 

“Can you tell me about it?” Miles placed a hand gently on his shoulder and spoke quietly as if Blake were a startled deer, trying to ease him down onto the bed. “I want to help, if I can. I think we’re two monkeys at the same shit circus right now.” Blake chuckled lightly and wiped his eyes again, shaking his head. Leave it to Miles to make a joke out of a situation like this. 

“We were headed down past the canyon. We finally got a news job, but it wasn’t much, so Ly-“ he cut himself off, “She said if we followed this case, about a pregnant woman murdered found just outside the Colorado River, we’d get a case and maybe make a break.” He ran his fingers through his hair and buried his face in his hands, “S-She had mercury in her blood, so we thought maybe there was illegal factory work or something on the reserve but when we got there…” 

Blake began sobbing again, leaving Miles with no idea what to do. Maybe Waylon should have come in with him, he seemed a bit more empathetic, but Blake didn’t really seem in the mood for strangers at the moment. All he could do was sit down on the bed beside him, and wait it out. 

“T-They were convinced she was pregnant…” he sobbed between wracks of his body, “Fuck, they even convinced _me_ she was pregnant, I thought I was going insane!” 

“I know, Blake, I know the feeling.” It was meant to be reassuring, but Miles didn’t know how good of a job he did. “Who was there?” 

“Fucking psychopaths,” he wailed, “Inbred fucking mutants! Cannibals! The whole set, Miles!” He clutched the smaller man’s jacket, pulling him closer, “Half of them wanted us dead, they thought the baby was the antichrist – thought we were fucking holy or something!” 

“So there was a baby?” 

“No, Miles, we hadn’t had sex in months! We slept in different rooms for christ’s sake! She died giving birth, I had her in my arms-“ He let go of Miles jacket and turned back towards the ground, “But I came to in the middle of nowhere and she was gone. I’m just fucking crazy…” 

“You’re not,” Miles snapped, “You’re not crazy, Blake, believe me.” 

“How do you know?” the older man snapped back, “How do you know I’m not? How do I know this isn’t all just a big fucking dream and I’m going to wake up in that nightmare again!” 

The Walrider suddenly flared, firing up to go into defense mode. It hurt, burned the back of Miles’ eyes and throat as it clawed at him to get out, but he swallowed it down.

“Because I know what’s going on, Blake! Look at my fucking hands!” he lifted them up, “Do you see this? Do you think I did this myself? Can you get a fucking hold of yourself for two seconds?!” 

Blake paused, mouth agape and eyes wide. Slowly his breathing calmed, and he reached over to the bedside table to grab his glasses. 

“Okay, Miles,” he slipped them on, “I-I’m sorry, it’s just-“ 

“I know, so don’t worry,” Miles sighed loudly and let himself fall back to the bed, “You know how Murkoff bought all those funny farms a few years back? Said they wanted to use their developments to help others?” 

Blake nodded slowly. 

“We all knew it was shit, even then, but this is so much bigger. I got an email from a disposable address explaining the illegal testing they were doing, experimenting with dream therapy and taking fuck-ups and fucking them up even more, so I decided to check it out,” he stole a glance at Blake who looked concentrated, “Silly me though, I think I got a little to big for my britches on this one because it was way over my head. The patients ran the place, some of them mutilated to the point where you couldn’t even recognize them as people anymore. They were using chemicals and… this fucking creature, Blake, they were stripping these people of their souls, I barely made it out.” 

“How did you?” 

“The thing they were experimenting with, they called it Project Walrider, implanted nanobots and some shit from beyond our realm of understanding. I killed the host but it latched onto me like a leach, it’s still there, it helped me escape.” 

Blake suddenly laughed, startling Miles.

“If it were any other person at any other time, I wouldn’t believe it.” He smiled grimly, “But that sounds just as crazy as my story.” 

_“Fuck you,”_ Miles pulled him in for another hug, tugging the man to his front. “Murkoff’s gonna pay for what they did. To those patients, to me, to you, and a thousand times over for Lynn.” He pulled away, “I have somebody for you to meet.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I-I don’t- I’m not sure I understand-“ 
> 
> “He saw you and he felt like he had to help,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “When you first meet him you think _‘What a cocky prick,’_ but it’s a defense mechanism. He cares too much so he acts like he could care less. He’s been hurt a lot Waylon, can I trust you to continue being friendly even if his front doesn’t hold up?” 
> 
> The pot started to boil over, finally catching Waylon’s attention. He turned away, moving it to a different element and dropping in a tea bag.
> 
> “I’d never do anything to hurt him,” still he didn’t meet the younger man’s eyes, “I needed him as much as he needed me. I can’t imagine what he’s gone through, but I can see he’s a good guy despite it. Tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a character chapter rather than plot. You learn a lot more about my boys, but not as much about what's going to happen to them, and what Murkoff is up to. 
> 
> I also thought I'd note that I put down the 10 chapter mark, but I think it might end up being more. I have a lot of head canons for this game, so even though it's coming out slower (because Red Barrels haven't given us much to work with) I still have big plans.

If it had been any other day of any other month, Waylon was sure him and Blake would have gotten along very well. He seemed nice, kind eyes and Miles couldn’t say enough good things about him, but this was not that day.

Despite Blake’s nearly three-inch height advantage to Miles, he basically cowered beside him when he was introduced to Waylon, looking as small as possible beside the younger man. Like Miles, he looked tired as all hell, and beaten down to the point where Waylon couldn’t imagine him without the bruises or bandages that covered his whole body. Despite his appearance, he spoke quickly and explained as best he could, but Waylon could tell he was still holding back out of distrust. Really, who could blame him? 

They spoke well into the night, letting Blake take as much time as he needed to remember the horrifying details of his few days in hell, but they never pushed him when it came to the parts with Lynn, which he always avoided. It felt like defusing a bomb, they had to be careful to cut the right wire and avoid the others completely. 

Waylon shared a bit about his situation; about Lisa and his boys back home, but only good things. Never did he mention how upset he was that he would never see them again or how he felt like he had lost them; they were alive, he couldn’t be selfish like that in front of Blake. Slowly, but surely, Blake warmed up to him. He could see why Miles liked him so much; he was very sweet but kept up with the brunette’s quips and dry humour faster than Waylon ever could. Despite all he had been through, he hoped that his experiences hadn’t hardened him like they had Waylon.

Waylon even managed to get Blake to let him clean his hands up, not pressuring him to explain how it happened, but from the looks of it he had been pinned to something, and there would probably be nerve damage. Regardless, Waylon disinfected the wounds and dressed them with new wraps, smiling softly at Blake as he uttered his thanks. 

None of them slept that night. 

It didn’t take long to convince Blake to tag along; there was nothing for him in Arizona anymore. The sun rose and they packed what they needed for Oregon, Miles cleaning up Blake’s room for him with a little help on what he wanted to keep and what they could leave. They left a bit of money on the bedside table to make up for the damages, and went on their way. 

Blake liked similar music to Waylon, much to Miles’ disdain, but it didn’t matter. Not long after they hit the road, Waylon crashed hard, sprawled across the backseat like a sugar-hungover child on his way home from Disneyland. Miles laughed at him, considering taking a picture and showing Waylon later. 

“He’s a nice guy,” Blake smiled warmly, also looking quite relaxed in his seat. “How long have you known him?” 

“A good, solid 60 hours.” He used his free hand to crack open an energy drink, “Seems like longer, I wish I had known him before.” 

“You always were a people person,” Blake reminded him fondly, “They just flock to you.” 

“I’m not a people person, everybody is a Miles’ person.” That made Blake laugh again, “I don’t know, I guess I was at one point, maybe before the folks kicked me out, maybe even before that.” 

“She missed you, y’know,” The raven-haired man stared fondly at Miles as he spilled his energy drink on his shirt with a curse as they drove over a speed bump, simultaneously waking up Waylon. “Sometimes she talked about getting together, visiting you after you left Texas.” 

“I missed you guys too,” Miles gave up dabbing at his shirt and focused on the road, “Living with you was the happiest I’d been in a long time, it almost made me forget about my parents.” 

His parents? Waylon definitely was not supposed to be hearing this conversation, but what was he supposed to do? His options were to either pretend he had just woken up and halt the conversation or just keep pretending to sleep and eavesdrop, and he thought his chances at passing were better on the former. 

“You sure were a little shit when you were eighteen,” Miles shoved him lightly but he just chuckled, “I remember when Lynn first let you sleep on our couch I got so pissed since you had been such a dick to me when we met at UT.” 

“I wasn’t that much of a dick!” 

“Oh, you were, and rightly so,” Blake snuck the energy drink from the younger man’s hands and took a sip, _“Lynn honey,_ I said, _I know you feel bad for him, but I’m twenty-five, that’s too young to be a father.”_

“Oh _please,”_ he snatched the can back, “I slept in your guest bedroom and ate your food, I didn’t ask you to tuck me in or play catch.” He took a big swig for dramatic affect, placing the drink a bit too violently into the cup holder. 

Blake became serious, letting his head rest against the window again and leaning into the seat, staring at Miles’ face furrowed in concentration. 

“You didn’t deserve this.” 

“Neither did you-“ 

“No,” Blake interrupted firmly, “Life dealt you a shitty hand from the beginning and the deck just got shitter as time went on,” he sighed, “First your parents, then Cory, now this? I don’t understand why such a good guy has to be shit on by the universe.” 

“My parent’s weren’t all bad,” Miles stated blandly, “The financial stability was nice, my childhood was good.” Both Waylon and Blake could tell he was putting on a front, “Cory was a good boyfriend until he wasn’t, I still have a lot of nice memories of him.” 

“You know my memories of Cory?” Blake’s back straightened, “Pulling him off you, piss drunk after he beat you half to death. Calling the police after he dropped you on our doorstep, roofied to hell and covered in bruises,” Waylon’s breath caught in his throat, “That’s not what good boyfriend’s do.” 

“Yeah, well…” Miles sighed, “Nineteen year old Miles thinks saying I love you is the only criteria that makes a healthy relationship.” 

“And how does twenty-three year old Miles feel about that?” 

“What are you, my shrink?” Miles groaned, “I know better now, obviously. Besides, I’ve barely had time to even look at a boy in the past year.” 

“Glad to hear, they’re nothing but bad news.” 

“When did you become so old?” Miles cuffed Blake lightly, making him laugh heartily again. Despite feeling so wrong for listening, it warmed Waylon’s heart. Without Miles, he would be stuck in that hotel room, just like Blake was, without any chance of leaving on his own. He would probably be stuck back with Murkoff again, different facility same hell hole, and so would Blake. The other man was about thirty, six years younger than Waylon, but still seven years older than Miles. How did somebody so young keep it together so well? 

He was especially perplexed after all he had just heard. Perhaps Miles was kicked out for liking boys? That was probably the case, but it didn’t sound like before that or after was so great either. Miles had a lot of practice with trauma and tragedy, but if it were Waylon he would have given up altogether. The hardest thing he had to go through in his life was a bit of prejudice in school from being half Korean, then having a baby when he was just twenty-one. It seemed now, from his perspective, insignificant. 

Eventually he managed to fall back asleep, leaving Miles and Blake to their playful banter. It was nice, but he was almost upset about it. He was now a third-wheel, not just a tag-along for Miles to shoulder off of. Way hoped when they got to Oregon he wasn’t the odd man out. 

“Waylon,” he was shaken awake gently, “We’re at a hotel. You ready to get out?” 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes slowly, his vision cleared to reveal Blake, hair neater and glasses on, but looked exhausted as ever. 

“Yeah,” he yawned, “Just a second, I’ll help bring stuff in.” 

He must have been sleeping a long time. When he got out of the Jeep his back cracked from tailbone to shoulders, and the sun was further in the sky, threatening to set. It made him feel like stopping to enjoy the view. The air was different too, still quite warm but not quite as humid.

“Whereabouts are we?” He asked Blake, grabbing a bag out of the back. 

“Nevada,” 

“Few miles from Vegas,” Miles cut in, “We decided it would be best to skip the day trip to the Strip, don’t you think?” 

Waylon nodded and finished what he was doing, piling everything into a neat corner by the bedroom door. It might be a problem, he thought, with three grown men and one queen-sized bed, even with Waylon’s smaller size. 

“I think the couch pulls out,” Miles went to move past him, “You guys can take the bed-“ 

“No,” Waylon put a hand on his chest like he had to him back in Colorado, “You’re running on energy drinks and an Egg McMuffin, and I think-“ He paused and stuck his head out of the door to hear Blake shuffling around the bathroom, “I think Blake needs you more than me right now. I’ll stay up, maybe order some pizza before you guys wake up.” 

Miles looked a bit startled at his forwardness, but nodded and turned back around, setting up the bed how he liked. Waylon walked back into the kitchen, looking around for some tea and a kettle, or maybe even a pot, so he could make himself a drink. He was hungry as hell but he’d just have to wait it out for when he orders pizza, since they weren’t exactly dripping in money. 

Finally, he found a small pot and a complimentary packet of earl grey in one of the drawers. While he waited for it to boil he rested on the counter, head in his hands, trying to work a bit of tension out. He slept for hours, but it barely felt like minutes. Through this, he didn’t hear the bathroom door open. 

“Hey,” Waylon startled, “It’s just me!” Blake raised his hands defensively, “I just wanted to talk to you.” 

Waylon relaxed and nodded, looking around for their companion. 

“Where’s Miles?” 

“He went to bed, he’s out like a light. I wanted to talk to you, just you.” 

Waylon didn’t like the sound of that. Was Blake about to tell him to hit the road? They seemed like they had been getting along so well, Blake didn’t seem like the type of guy to abandon him, especially in a time of need, but he didn’t blame him if he did. Neither of them knew Waylon, and they had each other now, what reason did they have to keep him around?

“Thank you,” 

Waylon paused, brow furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, what?” 

“Thanks for taking care of Miles,” Blake leaned against the island, “I know it probably seemed like the other way around, he’s a tough kid, but without you he wouldn’t have made it out, I don’t think.” 

The pot began boiling, but Waylon didn’t notice. 

“I-I don’t- I’m not sure I understand-“ 

“He saw you and he felt like he had to help,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “When you first meet him you think _‘What a cocky prick,’_ but it’s a defense mechanism. He cares too much so he acts like he could care less. He’s been hurt a lot Waylon, can I trust you to continue being friendly even if his front doesn’t hold up?” 

The pot started to boil over, finally catching Waylon’s attention. He turned away, moving it to a different element and dropping in a tea bag.

“I’d never do anything to hurt him,” still he didn’t meet the younger man’s eyes, “I needed him as much as he needed me. I can’t imagine what he’s gone through, but I can see he’s a good guy despite it. Tea?” Blake nodded, so he pulled two cups from the higher cupboards and placed them down, pouring a bit of tea in them both. Blake took it and held it up to his face, breathing in the hot steam. 

“I’m sorry, I know you’ve had a rough last few days and this is the last thing you want to be hearing,” The taller man chuckled, “People take advantage of him, I just don’t need that to happen again.” 

For a moment Waylon felt the urge to confess, to ask about what happened to Miles and get the full details of it all, but he thought better of it. It made Blake emotional in the car, and he would hate to ruin his laid-back state right now with those memories. Eventually, he decided against it. 

“I think I have you two to thank right now, honestly.” Waylon smiled softly over his mug, “You could have left me behind, but you didn’t.” 

“When did leaving people behind ever get us anywhere?” Blake shook his head, “We don’t have anybody anymore, all three of us, the least we can do is look out for each other.” 

Again the urge returned, but Waylon didn’t fight it. 

“When we were leaving Phoenix I heard you say something about his parents kicking him out,” Blake’s eyes hardened as he sipped his tea, “Is it because he’s… you know… into guys?” 

The taller man set his tea on the counter and crossed his arms. 

“That a problem, Waylon?” 

“No!” Waylon barked defensively, “Fuck no! Absolutely not, I just-“ He huffed, “I couldn’t imagine ever treating my boys like that.” 

Blake looked content with his answer, “I see,” he picked up his drink again, “How did you know?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to eavesdrop I just…” Way sighed in defeat, “I heard you mention a boyfriend, and at the bar back in Phoenix there was this waitress-“ 

“Sheila?” 

Waylon nodded. 

“She’s been all over him since the moment they met,” He chuckled and shook his head, “It became a game we played every time we went to Brody’s, _’How many rejections and excuses will it take Sheila to realize Miles is gay.’”_

“That would have been useful information at the time,” Waylon laughed, “I was so confused! He was flirting back, and she was really going at him, but it just seemed like he was… joking. More than usual, even.” 

“Sheila’s a nice girl, but is she ever dense.” Blake’s eyes were soft and his face looked like he was remembering her fondly. It made Waylon relax, no longer feeling under fire for his rather insensitive comment about Miles’ sexuality. “Thanks for the tea, and thanks for everything you’ve done for Miles, it really saved my ass too.” 

Waylon took the cup back and nodded, cleaning them after Blake disappeared into the bedroom. After, he cleaned them and placed them back on the shelves.

From his spot on the couch Waylon watched the bedroom light turn off, and silence filled the suite. Relief washed over him in a wave, warming Waylon inside and out better than the tea ever could. Not that he didn’t blame himself for thinking the way he did, but Blake had been more than reasonable and it seemed silly to have been so worried about what he might say to him. All he was doing was looking out for Miles and in turn was looking out for Waylon and himself as well. 

He leaned back against the back of the couch, tea still steaming and heart still beating a mile a minute, and watched the sun completely set through the small window by the door. This was a small reminder that he was free, or as free as the situation let on. 

~~~

“Holy shit, is that Domino’s?” 

There was absolutely no way Miles could smell the pizza all the way from the bedroom that fast. The door may have been open, and the hotel room may have been small, but he had barely paid the delivery girl and closed the door before Miles burst out of the other room, hair messy, and missing his normal tight-fitting jeans. 

“Jesus christ, you’re like a dog,” Waylon chuckled, placing the boxes on the island. The sun was just beginning to rise, and he felt bad ordering pizza so early in the morning, but they had to expect calls like this sometimes when offering 24-Hour services. 

“When you live off pizza for two years straight, you get this sixth sense.” He flipped open the boxes with a finger and decided on pepperoni, pulling out two slices and placing one on the counter in front of him as he sat. 

As Waylon waited for his coffee to brew, he snuck a glance at Miles enjoying his slices at the island counter. Though his jeans and well-fitting jacket had given away his muscular stature, it was nothing compared to now. The plain loose-fitting t-shirt he wore stretched over his chest enough to show the definition there, and it barely covered halfway down his bicep due to the muscling there and in his shoulders. Waylon pinned the staring on jealousy, never keeping on weight or the motivation to go to the gym, but in this moment, with the morning light shining through the younger man’s messy bed-head and illuminating his soft, tan skin, Waylon could not find anybody to blame for the stirring heat in his gut. 

“You weren’t kidding about the pizza,” Blake interrupted his train of thought, “I’m both happy and disappointed.” 

Waylon immediately averted his eyes. 

“Everybody likes pizza, it just seemed like the best decision.” 

“Yes, but you’re a dad, I didn’t expect you to be the _’pizza for breakfast’_ kind of dad.” He reached over Miles’ lap and pulled a box of plain cheese over to grab a few slices, “Get any sleep?” 

“Not really,” he smiled softly, “A lot on my mind, what about you guys?” 

“A little rough, but it’s better than nothing.” Blake returned the smile, “Coffee?” 

“Oh, yeah, you want some?” 

“Please, if there’s some to spare.” 

“Uh hello?” Miles mocked being offended, “Not that you seem to care, but I slept like a baby.” 

Waylon smirked, “I’m glad, I don’t want you cranky on the drive to Oregon.” 

“Yeah,” Blake chimed in just as cheekily, “Maybe you should have another nap, we don’t want any tantrums.” 

“Oh, come on!” Miles pouted, mouth still full of pizza crust. “You even got Way to team up on me? That is unfair, Langermann, just ‘cause I’m an easy target-“ He continued his muffled tirade into the bathroom, but as soon as the door closed neither of them could hear him anymore. 

“Sometimes I forget how young he is,” Blake chuckled, “And then he goes and does shit like that.” 

“It’s nice,” Waylon added, pouring some sugar into his coffee, “He’ll be good at keeping morale up.” He handed a cup full of hot, fresh instant coffee to Blake with another signature soft smile, similar to the one he was staring at Miles with when he woke up this morning. Admiration, Blake thought, but he might have been mistaken. 

Nobody had looked at him like that in a long time. Perhaps Miles was the last one, but he couldn’t remember. It hit him hard now how long it had been since he had embraced somebody, since he had done anything other than mutter an _’I love you’_ before sneaking off to the couch in his living room. All these emotions shocked him like a slap to the face, all on account of Waylon’s features. Too much like Lynn, but also not at all. He was blond, the exact shade as her, but his hair was much shorter and also spread a bit across his defined jaw and face. He had the same splattering of freckles and deep blue eyes, but the Korean half of him gave way to almond-shaped monolids rather than deep-set round eyes. He was everything Lynn was and wasn’t, and it was overwhelming to say the least. 

He finally managed to grip the mug, hoping his momentary pause wasn’t awkward or worrying for Waylon, though the man didn’t seem to pick up on it. He continued smiling that golden smile, which Blake was glad to see he kept despite the predicament they were in, and finished his own coffee and pizza. 

Quite a while later, Miles returned from the bathroom, hair wet from the shower and cleaner, but completely dressed and ready for their road trip again. The older men took their turns in the bathroom, Waylon going last out of politeness, but finally they were ready to go, full of pizza, coffee, and an overwhelming urge to not stay in one place too long. 

Waylon offered to drive, much to the other’s dismay, but it didn’t seem like he was taking no for an answer. Blake hesitantly got in the back, hoping it wasn’t because of their talk last night, hoping Waylon wasn’t trying to prove something and just simply felt like driving. 

~~~

It was hard to imagine now, in this moment, that Miles had faced hardships much worse than anybody else. 

“This is-“ 

“Piece of Mind, Boston!” He practically jumped from his seat, slamming back into place because of the seatbelt’s automatic locking function. 

“God dammit!” Waylon groaned, “You’ve been kicking my ass ever since Carson.” 

“I know,” Miles giggled, “You’re old, why aren’t you good at this? That was an old person song.” 

“I – You - I'm not old!” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Miles scooted up to turn the dial again, trying to find another song that he could name before Waylon heard the second note. “I’m glad Blake’s asleep, he’d probably be kicking both our asses.” 

“He’s good?” 

“Oh yeah,” He finally settled on a classic rock station, “I don’t know why he picked journalism, he’s much better with music, you should hear him play guitar.” The brunette rotated in his seat to make sure the older man was still asleep, “Now that I think about it, it was probably Lynn that made the decision for him.” 

For the first time, Miles looked sad, vulnerable even, but the moment was short lived, as his head whipped back to the front of the car and he reached towards the volume knob to turn it up. 

“Pink Houses, John Mellencamp!” 

“God dammit, Miles!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the support, please let me know what you think or if I've made any mistakes. I've been loving your comments.
> 
> Also, shoutout to all my buddies and darlings that have been motivating me to continue writing and keeping me sane, I love you lots.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can’t you hear it?”_
> 
> The voice was definitely Miles’, but there was another there. Deeper, gravelly, more distorted, and it was almost covering the brunette’s. 
> 
> “No, Miles, I can’t.” He repeated his name again, something Lisa used to do when Ethan had an anxiety attack. 
> 
> _“I-It’s so loud-“_ He breathed, _“It hurts-“_
> 
> “I know,” he held his head still, “Look at me though, it’s fine. You need to calm down or you’re going to pass out. It’s taking over your body, you need to calm down so you can stop it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say about this chapter other than I feel so bad for hurting my boys like this, but it feels so good. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to note (since some of you have been asking) that this is just a fun head canon, it's not necessarily how I think the series should continue or what I think would happen if it did. Lots of it is based of my personal head canon and what I would like to see from the series, but it's meant as more of a character study than anything.

Three days in a car had made them sluggish, inattentive, and most of all, comfortable. Inside Miles’ old Jeep Wrangler they had been lulled into a false sense of security. Speaking with strangers was kept to a minimum to avoid being recognized, and the Walrider was yet to make an appearance. When it finally did, this should have been their first sign something was wrong. 

For once, all three men were awake, bladders full and legs restless since they crossed the county line into California, but still they trekked on until they couldn’t anymore, dead-set on making only one more stop. A few miles from Reno they pulled up to an empty gas n’ go to fill up and relieve themselves, as well as stretch their legs before they made the last trip to their final destination. In the small parking lot there were two other cars, a large truck at one of the diesel pumps, and a small, beaten Chevy in a staff parking spot. 

While Blake used the washroom, Miles pumped and Waylon paid, trying to avoid making eye contact with the rather rough-looking man behind the counter. 

“Road trip?” He asked in a thick and scratchy voice. 

Waylon nodded in his best attempt at being polite, but hastily shoved his cash on the counter. 

“Those y’er buddies?” 

“Y-Yeah, college buddies,” Waylon forced a smile, “Thought we’d see the country before real life sinks in, you know?” He caught himself after it was too late, hoping the man wouldn’t pick up on the blatant lie.

“Sounds fun,” He grinned, exposing his rotting teeth. “Best be careful though, you don’t know what kind ‘a folks are hangin’ ‘round these days.” With that the man placed Waylon’s change down on the counter, but when he eagerly reached to grab it the man caught his hand. “Especially you, since y’er so…” he looked him up and down, “Petite.” 

Waylon tried to yank his hand away, but as usual the other man was much larger and stronger, holding him in place. He leaned over the counter, breath hot and putrid in the blonde’s face. 

“I know quite a few people who’d pay good money to get their hands on ya’.” 

The air changed, suddenly thicker and heavier than he had ever felt it. With the man hovering basically over him coupled with the electric charge in the air, he felt like he was suffocating. 

The bells over the door chimed and the man suddenly sunk back into his seat, smirking at Waylon’s horrified face across the counter. He began panicking, breath shallow but quiet in his chest, heart racing, and a hand landed on his shoulder but he couldn’t spin around to see who it was-

“Already paid?” Miles leaned over him, “Can I get a pack of smokes as well?” 

Waylon breathed a quiet sigh of relief, subtly shifting into Miles’ space to get away from the cashier. Miles was pretty, yeah, but there was no way the man would provoke him. 

“Ya’ want the new menthols?” He muttered blandly. 

“Why not,” Miles smirked that signature smirk and leant into Waylon more so their arms were touching. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was almost like his arm was asleep. Tiny pin pricks from his shoulder to his wrist where Miles was pressed against him, obviously trying to distract the creepy man from the small blond. 

The man tossed the pack on the counter, obviously ticked at having been interrupted. Miles kept up the act, pulling a few bills from Waylon’s hand and sliding them slyly across the counter. The man retrieved them but Miles didn’t let go, leaning forward as he had before, absolutely bristling. 

“If you so much as look at him after we turn around I’ll rip your fucking balls off, are we clear?” 

Taken aback, the man’s eyes widened and his posture changed from slack to tense. He nodded slowly, which seemed to be enough for Miles because his grin returned and he picked the carton off the counter and placed it in his pocket, wrapping an arm around Waylon’s waist and guiding him out the door. 

“How the hell did you know?” 

“It’s angry,” Miles pulled a cigarette out and stuck it between his teeth, “It told me to check on you, I don’t know how it knew.” 

“Who?” Blake returned, “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” Miles snapped, “Get in the car, I’ll drive.”

Blake shot Waylon a look, but he just shook his head and motioned to the Jeep. Miles was uncharacteristically quiet as he pulled out of the parking lot, lighting his cigarette and heading towards the state line. 

They didn’t make it far before he started hissing in pain, clutching his head in his hands like he was experiencing the start of a migraine. The static returned in the air, interfering with the radio and making it screech like a dying cat, so Waylon quickly turned it off. 

“What’s wrong?” Blake asked, more than a little worried. 

“It’s fine,” Miles shook his head, “I’m fine, which turn do I take?” He sure didn’t look fine. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter and his skin was paling at an alarming rate. 

“Miles pull over, I’ll drive.” 

“No, it’s fine-“ 

He turned onto the next street to the highway, but when he caught sight of the police roadblock a couple kilometers ahead where they were checking cars, he clutched his head again, pulling both hands off the wheel. Waylon immediately caught it, instructing Miles to pull over and stop the car. Somehow, he managed, and all three of them got out. 

“Has he done this before?” 

“Don’t worry, Blake, just drive! Turn us around!” Waylon supported Miles to get him into the back seat. Although he struggled, eventually Miles laid out, head in the blonde’s lap as he cried out in pain. Blake did as he was told, pulling the car off the side of the road and onto a different exit then originally planned.

Waylon tried to calm Miles the way he used to for Isaac and Ethan when they had headaches, running his fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp, but neither of his boys had ever experienced anything like this. He could tell Miles was panicking, preparing to go into a full-blown panic attack, and if the loud hum in the air was anything to go by it was the Walrider’s fault, and who knew what that entailed. No amount of soothing and cooing made him relax, and even when he tried to pull his head back his nose kept bleeding a steady stream and his eyes were still tightly shut. 

“Miles,” Waylon cooed, “Please, just open your eyes. We’ve turned around, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

His eyes snapped open, irises completely black and slowly consuming the whites as well. It startled Waylon, but he tried not to let it show. 

“Good job,” he praised, “Slow your breathing down, it’s fine. We’ve turned around.” 

_“Can’t you hear it?”_

The voice was definitely Miles’, but there was another there. Deeper, gravelly, more distorted, and it was almost covering the brunette’s. 

“No, Miles, I can’t.” He repeated his name again, something Lisa used to do when Ethan had an anxiety attack. 

_“I-It’s so loud-“_ He breathed, _“It hurts-“_

“I know,” he held his head still, “Look at me though, it’s fine. You need to calm down or you’re going to pass out. It’s taking over your body, you need to calm down so you can stop it.” 

The brunette’s eyes closed tightly again and he nodded, wincing in pain but breathing deeply in time with Waylon in an attempt to get things under control. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, in a voice completely his own. 

“No, don’t be sorry,” Waylon soothed his hair back, “Just breathe, it’s alright.” He pulled a random shirt out of the back of the car and handed it to Miles, placing it under his nose to catch the remnants of blood that hadn’t made it onto Waylon’s pant leg or the floor of the Wrangler. Slowly he sat up, slumped against Waylon’s side, but it was better than nothing. 

“What just happened?” Waylon looked up to see Blake, staring at them both in shock and terror in the rear-view mirror. It seemed he was also tense and panicked, knuckles white on the wheel and dark green eyes blown wide, but he kept driving. 

“I’m not sure,” Waylon replied honestly, “The roadblock might have been Murkoff, I think they had something that was interfering with the Walrider.” 

“That’s… the thing,” Blake nodded towards Miles, “That’s the thing inside of him?” 

Waylon nodded, adjusting Miles so he could rest more comfortably against him. His breathing was finally steady but it was obvious he was tired, letting Waylon hold the shirt to his face as well. 

“I-I’m glad you were here,” The younger man muttered, “I wouldn’t know what to do…” 

“I didn’t really know what I was doing, I just did what I thought I should do.” Waylon admitted, “I’m afraid of it, but it likes me, so I’m not too worried. Can’t be any worse than what’s already happened.” 

Blake swallowed thickly and returned his eyes to the road, adjusting his rear-view so he could still see the two in the back out of worry. Navigating the map himself, he found an alternate route through a national park that would take a few more hours, but he would rather spend a little more time in the car with a happy Miles and Walrider than an angry one. 

Miles passed out not long after the ordeal, probably out of exhaustion. It had been quite a while since Ethan had experienced a panic attack, but he always remembered the boy being dead tired afterwards. Blake didn’t speak, he just kept staring ahead at the road, so Waylon took in the tranquil scenery as well. If it wasn’t for a quiet hum in the air and the younger man’s gentle, spontaneous snores, maybe he would have been worried about Miles, but in due time he woke up. 

“Ouch,” was the first thing he said, “One too many beers last night, eh?” 

“I wish,” Waylon frowned, brushing the brunette’s drying sweat-soaked hair back. 

“Is there water?” 

Blake reached over the middle console and pulled out a bottle, passing it to Waylon, who in turn passed it to Miles. He pushed him up, making him sit upright so he wouldn’t choke, but he did anyway. 

“Here,” Waylon muttered, “You’ve got blood on your face.” He pulled the shirt out that he had been using to stop the bleeding earlier and put some water on it, handing it to Miles so he could wipe it off. 

“My nose was bleeding?” Waylon nodded, “I don’t remember.” 

“Waylon thinks…” Blake started hesitantly, “The roadblock we passed was maybe Murkoff, they could have had something that was throwing off… you know.” 

“What was the last thing you remember?” Waylon asked softly, in case his head was still bothering him. 

“I remember… driving. It started screaming but it didn’t say what was wrong. We got closer, it just started getting worse. Then I remember I was in the backseat and you were looking down at me…” He trailed off, looking to Waylon. “Why did you look so scared?” 

“I-I didn’t know what was going on,” he said truthfully, “But it was taking over, like it had back at the mountain. I could hear it and see it, but I didn’t know why it was so upset since we were just in the car.” 

“It was different this time,” Miles threw the shirt in the back, “It wasn’t angry, it was worried.” 

“Unsettling, great…” Blake mumbled, grip tightening on the wheel. 

“It wouldn’t do anything to you, Blakey.” Miles assured him, “It knows I like you.” 

“You don’t know,” Blake snapped, “I wasn’t worried about me, anyway, I was worried about you! It sounded like you were dying.” 

“You wish,” Miles grinned cheekily but weakly, “Many have tried, none have prevailed.” 

“Miles, this is serious!” The larger man barked at him, “You could have hurt Waylon, too! We need to sort this thing out-“ 

“Blakey, honey,” Miles grumbled, “It loves Way, can’t say enough about him, it’s fine. If it makes you feel better, we can try and figure it out when we get to the cabin.” 

Waylon breathed deeply, “How far are we?” 

“Not far, I think we’ll have just enough gas though.” 

“We can’t risk stopping again,” Waylon added, “Let’s just get there, you said it’s stocked?” 

 

“Juan said it’s stocked, so we’ll be fine.” He yawned dramatically, slumping against the blond again, “Anybody seen my jacket? I could use a cig.” 

“Not right now,” Waylon frowned, “You don’t need that right now.” 

“Alright, mom,” Miles grumbled and let himself fall back across Waylon’s lap, “Hey, how did you know what to do?” 

“Isaac gets migraines,” he let his arm fall comfortably across the larger man, “Ethan gets panic attacks, I just went with my gut feeling, I didn’t really know if it would help.” 

Miles hummed in acknowledgment, nestling further into Waylon’s thigh. He relaxed but still the look on his face was anything but content, like he was itching to say something but didn’t know how to word it. 

“Did something…” he frowned, “Did something change? When I was freaking out, I mean.” 

“Your eyes did,” the blond muttered. 

“I thought so,” he chuckled, “They did at the gas station, too.” 

Suddenly everything made sense. On his own to the average person, pretty-boy Miles did not look very intimidating, so there was no possible way that he could raise that kind of reaction from the cashier at the station, regardless of what he said. 

“It’s kinda like looking through goggles,” he explained, “I could tell it was you but everything in my peripheral was fading in and out, and there’s this… ring around you.” 

“Again,” Blake chirped, “Unsettling, very worrying.” 

“Don’t worry, Blake, you have one too.”

“I don’t want one.” 

“Except yours is a little darker, Way’s is bright red.” 

“Miles, I’d rather you keep the sharing to a minimum, I don’t really like the thought of this thing thinking about me.”

Comments like these were a reminder that Blake, though similar, had not experienced the same things Miles and Waylon had. Both had time to adjust to the idea of the Walrider and the engine, even if it was jarring and ridiculous at first, but they had time nonetheless. They understood better how it worked, even if there knowledge wasn’t that extensive, and they had experienced it first hand. Blake was sensitive, and his experiences were exclusive to inbred hicks and crazy priests with god complexes, not supernatural beings that were possessing his long-time friend and potentially causing him harm. Blake didn’t get to see the times when it protected Miles or Waylon, and when told about the situation all he retained was _’killed many military personnel’_ and _‘tore a grown man apart limb from limb’_. 

“Sorry, Blakey,” Miles sat up, “Didn’t mean to give you the creeps like that.” He reached over the front seat and retrieved his jacket with the smokes, opening the window completely as to not annoy the others with the second-hand smoke. The nicotine didn’t sooth his aching chest or burning throat, but as soon as it hit his lungs and he exhaled deeply, he felt much better. He didn’t know whether it was even affecting him, probably a placebo more than anything, but it was still some comfort to him. Familiar things grounded you, and he was in need of some grounding. 

~~~

The cabin was very beautiful. Blake thought it was unfortunate they had to come across it at a time like this, finding themselves unable to appreciate it for anything more than a place to hide from the world. He would have loved to come here given better circumstances. 

Miles, having chain-smoked the rest of the way there, put out his cigarette butt on the porch swing outside, unnoticed by the two older men. They were quiet as they entered, cautiously checking every inch of the spacious house to make sure everything was as it seemed. 

“Reminds me of my grandparents' place,” Miles stated as he exited the master bedroom, “Hopefully we wont have to sing any carols around the fireplace.”

In total there was a kitchen, living room, dining area, and a very spacious bedroom. According to Juan, all the supplies they needed were in the basement, already stocked in the cupboard, or in the shed out back. Waylon had never been one for camping, always preferring the comfort of the indoors and his warm condo than the great outdoors, but he could see himself being comfortable here for a while anyway. 

As Waylon was setting one of their bags down, taking in the layout of the cabin, he caught sight of Blake across the room, watching Miles rummage through the shed through one of the back windows. They were here, finally safe, yet Blake looked upset, soft features agitated, jaw taut and rigid. 

“You okay?” He made sure his steps were a little heavier as he entered the room, as to not to startle the younger man. 

“I’m just…” he clenched and unclenched his jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Fuck…” 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You panicked, shit happens.”

The larger man turned to him, “These things don’t happen,” he shook his head, “This isn’t a scary movie, this is real life. It’s real and it’s fucking me up.” He turned back to the window like Miles would be snatched if he looked away, “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.” 

Tears began dripping down his face, falling steadily down his cheeks in streams, but he didn’t make a sound. 

“Blake,” Waylon said softly, “It’s a lot to take in but we’re all trying our best. Miles is strong though, and I know you don’t understand, but I think the Walrider wants us safe just as much as he does.” 

“You talk as if it’s a fucking person,” Blake sobbed, “Like it’s not sucking the life out of that kid like a fucking leach.” He sunk down against the wall, burying his head into his knees. 

“Did Miles tell you what it did?” Waylon walked over, sinking down beside Blake but leaving a bit of space between them. 

“Yeah, it killed ten people with his own bare hands-“ 

“No, I mean other than that,” Blake shook his head but didn’t look up, “When we first got there it was in this host named Billy, who was a patient in the asylum. They had him hooked up to this machine that kept it in check, but eventually it managed to get control but it couldn’t leave Mount Massive, so it took it over. Everybody who worked there treated the patients like shit, so they had to go.” 

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better, because you’re doing a pretty piss-poor job-“ 

“Let me finish,” Waylon interjected, “I think it was angry that Miles wanted to kill the host, but when it realized it could take over him and leave the cell, it let him.” The blond scratched his head, “I worked for Murkoff, although I was pretty much a slave by the end, so it should have killed me. One of the managers caught me on the way out, stabbed me, was going to finish the job but the Walrider got to him first. It didn’t make sense at first, but now that I think about it, I was dressed as an inmate, so it took pity on me.” 

Blake finally looked up, tear tracks staining his face and eyes puffy and red, but not crying any longer. 

“But it tried to kill Miles-“ 

“Before it knew Miles was trying to expose Murkoff, not destroy the it,” Waylon scooted closer, “Then when I was escaping, and this didn’t make sense until later when Miles explained, I got in his Jeep and he watched me. For a minute I waited, I knew it was him, I could just feel it in my gut, but it was the one that turned the Jeep around. Miles said he didn’t leave with me because he didn’t know what the Walrider was capable of, but we know that it could take over if it really tried. It let me go because that’s what Miles wanted.” 

Blake scratched the back of his head, deep in thought. That was a lot of information to process, and even with the explanation Waylon knew it would still be hard to trust it.

“But what if it hurts him again…” He whispered, “Maybe if it wasn’t in him they wouldn’t hurt him like that.” 

“Blake, look at me,” the younger man did, “If it weren’t for the Walrider, neither of us would have escaped, and Miles would be in even more pain, he probably wouldn’t have even made it.” 

Blake looked like he sobered up for a second, but it was short lived as sobs began wracking his body again. For the second time that day Waylon was leant on as he embraced the other man close and let him cry into his shoulder. It seemed a bit ridiculous, given their height difference, but Blake somehow managed, clutching onto Waylon’s shirt enough to make his hands bleed again as he cried quietly into the crook of his neck.

“Why can’t I just suck it the fuck up-“ He hiccupped, “I’m so sorry, Waylon.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, I understand why you’re upset.” 

Miles decided to walk in at that moment, holding a few pieces of firewood, a jerry can, and a box of matches in his mouth. Unable to speak, he shot Waylon a confused look and motioned to Blake hiding in his chest, but the blond just put a finger to his lips and shooed him away. 

“You’ve opened your hands again,” Waylon pulled them off his shirt, “Let’s go clean them up?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight was the same. The whirring in Miles’ head seemed louder for some reason even though he was even more content than he had been all week, and kept him awake for hours into the night. He was considering going outside for a smoke, maybe going for a walk, but Waylon’s shaking suddenly turn into full body shudders and he began crying into his pillow. 
> 
> _“I’m sorry…”_ he whispered, _”Eddie, I didn’t mean it…”_ The older man started sobbing violently, muffled into the pillow but so obvious to Miles from his spot beside him. 
> 
> “Waylon,” he whispered, but it seemed to make things worse. 
> 
> _”I-I’ll be good, I swear-“_ cried Waylon, _“Ed-Eddie please-“_
> 
> “Way, c’mon,” Miles put a hand on his shoulder and tried to shake him gently awake but he convulsed, jumping away from the contact. “Oh fuck it-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There's a mention/heavy implication of rape/underage in this chapter just fyi, so if you're sensitive 1. Why are you reading an Outlast fic? 2. Please be cautious and make smart decisions!

_Chest heaving, heart racing, legs moving without command, Blake raced through the halls of the school, being chased by some unseen force. Although he was yet to see it, he knew from the fear that gripped him tightly that it could only be one person. The person that haunted his dreams every night and the face he saw every time he closed his eyes. Though he hadn’t seen it in many years it was still burned to his memory._

_“Blake!” he finally heard it, “Blake Langermann, you know you can’t run from me.”_

_“Oh, fuck-“ cursed Blake as he rolled his ankle on a stack of books._

_“I just need to talk to you,” it spoke sweetly, but it was as if several people were talking at once, some not even speaking the same sentence. “Don’t you want to talk, Blake?”_

_The boy whipped around the corner into another dark hallway, but he could hear loud footsteps following behind him, slowly closing in. If he didn’t find somewhere to go soon, it would get him. He would get him. He couldn’t let it happen again. He made a sharp, unexpected turn that strained his ankle again, honing in on the front door to the school. If he made it, he would be free. He could go home, all it took was one reach of his arm to get at the handle-_

_Suddenly there was a firm grip around his wrist, then his upper arm, and then long slimy tendrils wrapped themselves around his body and pulled him back, tripping him up so he landed on the floor, then they were gone. There was warm desert earth under him, moist from the night’s coolness and the ever-moving riverbanks._

_The weight returned, only this time it was not the tentacle creature, it was a thin body, still heavy, that weighed him down. its clothes were dark, a combination of a priests gown and torn robes, and smelt of grime and mildew. The face was blurring, like he had a scratch on his glasses, but no matter how much he thrashed and pushed away he still couldn’t see it, and the crushing weight on his chest didn’t cease._

_“Oh honey,” again multiple voices spoke, “Relax for me, will you?”_

_Hands gripped his belt buckle tightly and yanked it from the confines of the loops, probably tearing them in the process. He thrashed more, opening his mouth to scream but the weight on his chest was killing him, rendering him unable to exhale or inhale, and he was about to pass out as calloused hands caressed his bare hip bones and-_

Blake flew up, huffing wildly in an attempt to get his bearings. There were stars in front of his eyes, big dark spots from lack of oxygen, but he was slowly coming to, in a room that somehow looked familiar. 

Then he heard a soft noise, a gentle whimper from beside him, and when he looked all the memories came flooding back. Waylon Park, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized white tee, was curled up in a fetal position facing away from him, sleeping deeply but fitfully. That’s right, he was at the cabin, with Miles and Waylon. They weren’t in Arizona, and he wasn’t at the school, they were in Oregon. Things were all right. He was safe.

Labelling himself as unable to fall back asleep, he stood up from bed, leaving his glasses, and made his way quietly to the kitchen for a cup of water. His chest still hurt but it felt much better, cool liquid soothing his sore throat and grounding him to the situation. Taking his cup, he decided to check on Miles, and experienced a small moment of panic when the man wasn’t on the couch, but it was short-lived as he quickly noticed the porch light on. 

Miles didn’t startle when he opened the screen door, shutting it gently behind him as to not disturb the lone sleeping man inside. He had one long leg crossed over the other and a cigarette in his right hand, balanced gently on the edge of the porch swing. His head was leaned back against the cabin wall, and if he hadn’t exhaled a large plume of smoke just as he walked out, Blake would have thought he was asleep. 

“Still up?”

“I got a lot on my mind,” Miles didn’t move an inch but gave him a lopsided smile, “What about you?” 

“Same boat,” said Blake, “Different creek.” The older man sat down beside Miles, the small seat leaving very little room between them, thighs pressed against each other. They were silent for a few minutes, breathing in the cool air. It was almost October now and neither of them were dressed for this kind of weather, both in shorts and thin shirts, but Miles didn’t seem as concerned as Blake. 

“What were you upset about earlier?” said Miles, finally breaking the silence. “When you were hamming it up with Way? I heard my name.” He finally turned to Blake, taking a drag as their eyes met. 

“Would you believe me if I said Marley and Me?” 

Both chuckled, “Sad movie, but I’d say you were a little late to the game. You’ve been holding up pretty well, what’s got you bent all of the sudden?” 

“You,” mumbled Blake, “You’re worrying me.” 

“I thought so,” Miles shook his head, snuffing out his smoke. “If it’s any consolation, you’re worrying me too. So is Waylon, we’re worrying each other. It’s a party, and we’re all worried.”

“I think I was due for a breakdown,” said Blake, “You two are as well.” 

“Waylon, yes. Me? Not so much.” 

“Don’t act like you’re some all powerful being,” snapped the older man, “You bottle things up, and you don’t talk about them until it gets to be too much and you’re way off the handle. You need to start learning that you can feel sorry for yourself.” 

“I already had nothing,” hissed Miles, looking like he was getting pissed. “I had nothing, so I lost nothing. You and Waylon deserve to be upset. You lost everything there, Blake, you lost things you didn’t even have in the first place!” 

Obviously Miles meant the baby. He only mentioned her in passing, not wanting to acknowledge the most confusing and horrific part of the whole ordeal, but apparently Miles thought this was important enough to bring up. 

“She wasn’t real-“ 

“But she felt real,” Miles’ face softened, “Don’t pull a Miles, Blake, you need to start talking about what you’re feeling too, you won’t like the result if you don’t.”

Again, a thick silence stretched on, interrupted only by the occasional chirp of a cricket or bird’s coo. 

“I woke up because I was dreaming,” Blake rubbed the rough stubble on his jaw, “I was at school and this- this teacher was there, chasing me,” Miles looked concerned and a bit confused but didn’t interrupt, “He would uh… He’d sometimes do things. To the kids, you know?” 

A horrified look passed over Miles face, and Blake could have sworn his eyes flashed darker momentarily. 

“When I was at Temple Gate I saw him a lot, as well as my friend from middle school…” Tears welled in his eyes but still they didn’t fall, _“What kind of sick fuck does that kind of thing?”_ he whispered, “He killed her, I could have stopped it, but he did it anyway. Maybe she fought back, I still don’t know, but it didn’t matter. Later, kids talked, he was tried, and I knew what he had done to her, I could have tried to help but I was so fucking scared, Miles.” 

The older man stole a glance at the brunette, amber eyes deep in thought, but he didn’t give anything away. 

“Fifteen years he got,” Blake shook his head and let the tears spill onto his lap, “He’s on probation now, but it’s not enough. Fifteen years doesn’t bring Jessica back, and it doesn’t make up for what he did to us.” 

Miles finally looked up, “What does that have to do with Temple Gate?” he asked softly, “Why did you think of him then?” 

“I don’t know, but that place brought out the worst in me. Lynn and I never talked about Jessica, I had just bottled up all of my emotions and it was weighing on me bad. Being there, in that manic state, I could see all the parallels. If I didn’t interfere again I’d be doing to Lynn what I had done to Jess…” sobs wracked his body once again, and he keeled over, head in his hands. “He wasn’t there, but he did it again!” 

_“Jesus fucking christ,”_ Miles muttered, “Blake, you’re not at fault for what happened. You think back now and you say _‘What could I have done differently? What could I have done to save her?’_ but the answer is nothing. If it wasn’t her, it was another kid, it could have been you,” 

“It should have been me!” barked Blake. 

“How could you fucking say that? You were what, thirteen- fourteen maybe? That’s too much responsibility for you to take on-” 

“Nine…” the raven haired man whispered, “I was nine.” 

“Jesus fuck…” Miles gripped him tightly and pulled him onto his chest, letting Blake bury his face there instead of his hands. 

“What did you mean he did it again, Blake?” 

The older man gripped him tighter, burrowing further into Miles’ chest as he crying slowed. 

“I know it wasn’t him, but it sure as fuck felt like it…” he wiped his face, “I’m trying to be strong for you, Miles, I am-“ 

“You’re succeeding,” he brushed the man’s hair back, “But you’ve always put too much pressure on yourself. Can’t you take your own fucking advice for once and just be selfish? Put yourself first, for christ’s sake.” 

“I know,” Blake frantically wiped his face, “You’re an adult now, I shouldn’t be like this.” 

“You’re goddamn right I am,” Miles gently pulled Blake’s hands from his face, “It always hurt more than I let on and you give me shit for not showing it, but you’re doing the same thing.” 

“I know, I know-“ 

“But now we’re relying on each other, and in order for me to rely on you I have to know you can handle it. So you better lean on me too, okay? For each other, and for Way.” 

“Okay.” 

“Alright,” Miles leaned over and gave Blake’s cheek a quick peck, making the older man chuckle, “Let’s get inside before we have any more chick flick moments, I’m freezing my tits off.”

~~~

“I’ll go.” 

“No you won’t, I’ll go.” 

“Miles,” snapped Waylon, “It’s just the store, I can do it myself.” 

“I know you can, but you’ve been limping around all day. It’s worse than it was before, I’m sure all that driving didn’t help.”

“It’ll be good to get out of the house and stretch it.” 

“Did you know that nine out of ten stretches happen in your own home?” Miles snatched the keys from his hands, “Crazy, right?” 

Waylon glared at him, unimpressed.

“This isn’t up for debate, you’re staying here.” 

“At least let me come with you, I’ll stay in the car.” 

“I don’t want to leave Blake here.” 

“I’m more worried about you getting into trouble,” Blake called from the kitchen, “I’ll be okay, take him, just in case.” 

“Fine!” huffed Miles, “But you’re staying in the car. My gorgeous face and body draw enough attention as it is, we don’t need your cute little ass making matters worse.” 

Even though he knew Miles was just joking, the last comment made Waylon blush. He had always thought of himself as average, rarely being on the receiving end of any compliments, especially from another man. He followed Miles to the cherry red Wrangler, slowly albeit, and got into the passenger seat. 

Oregon in late September was very beautiful. Still a bit warm, but there was a cool breeze in the air and the days were shorter, signalling that October was on it’s way. They were hidden well, so it took quite a while to get to their destination for some supplies, and cigarettes for Miles. Despite the younger man’s complaints and worried comments, Waylon did end up accompanying him inside the small grocer. Even through Miles’ tedious whining about Waylon slowing them down or people staring, he let his façade slip by letting Waylon lean his weight on him and stealing concerned glances whenever he felt like the blond wasn’t looking.

“What did Blake ask for?” Waylon called to Miles from a little ways down the short isle, “Was it… was it Cool Ranch Doritos or Spicy Nacho?”

“I don’t know, I try not to listen when Blake gets in one of his moods.” Miles walked back over and inspected the rows of crisps, “Don’t let his cute face distract you, Waylon, he’d do anything to get his hands on junk food, Lynn never let him eat this shit.” 

“We should be eating better really,” Waylon pointed accusingly to the basket Miles was holding, “How many frozen pizzas do you need?” 

“Whatever was in that freezer,” he pointed with a stumpy, bandaged finger, “It’s cheap and easy, let me live.” 

“I can make pizza from scratch though,” Waylon pulled them out, “It’ll be cheaper, and I can show you and Blake. It’ll be something to do.” 

“Whatever you say, Paula Deen, I’m not complaining.” He moved out of the blonde’s way so he could put the frozen boxes back, “How do you know how to make pizza?” he asked, linking an arm around Waylon and making their way to the next isle. 

“My mom, she was the cook of the house.”

“Can you make Korean food too?” 

“No,” chuckled Waylon, “I was adopted, both my parents were American.” He paused to grab a bag of flour off the shelf, “One time my mom and I made Korean barbecue though, maybe we can try that one day?” 

Miles smirked fondly down at the older man, “I’d like that.” 

“What’s got you giggling?” 

“Nothing,” he turned away but the smile didn’t leave, “I was just… When this all started I thought I was going to be stuck in a tiny cabin with two miserable dicks moping about and being useless, but here you are preparing for The Great Oregon Bake-Off.”

Waylon just shook his head, hopping along to find the ingredients he needed and what they had originally set out to get. With their basket full, and Miles complaining about the heat despite the cool weather and air-conditioned store, they made it to the register, even throwing in a couple chocolate bars for Blake. 

When they exited the automatic doors Miles immediately tensed, back going rigid and jaw clenching tight. His left arm snapped back protectively in front of the smaller man to keep him back, and his eyes narrowed off into the parking lot. 

“What’s wrong?” Waylon tried to look but Miles held him back, “Is it the signal thing again? Are you-“ 

“No,” Miles gripped his arm, “Those guys are watching us.”

Peeking around the brunette, Waylon immediately spotted what Miles was talking about. They were sitting on the tailgate of an old beaten up truck, two men and a woman around the same age as Miles but maybe even younger. They stared over at them, snickering and nudging each other like there was a joke to be shared. 

Before Waylon could react, Miles was waltzing across the parking lot towards them, dropping his grocery bags, hands on his hips and posture defensive. As best he could, he scurried after him. 

“Something wrong, guys?” 

“Not with us,” the blond spat, “faggot.”

The last word was the only thing that Waylon caught as he met up with Miles, just in time for him to see Miles brace like he was preparing for a fight. The Walrider’s tell tale hum returned, startling Waylon into action. 

“Miles,” he dropped the grocery bags he was carrying to grip the man’s sleeve, “Let’s go.” 

“No,” Miles shook him off, “I’m having a nice little chat with our buddies here, do you want to tell him what you were just saying to me now?” 

“Your bitch is calling,” the girl said in a nasally voice, “Better do what he says.”

“What, you’re gonna make me?” Miles’ eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists, “You better watch your mouth before you get what’s coming to you.” Despite his tough words, Waylon could tell Miles was panicking, losing control; letting the Walrider make decisions for him. Waylon used all his weight to move Miles from his spot, tugging on him hard to try and get him away, but the man wouldn’t budge an inch like Waylon weighed nothing.

“Garret, just lay off.” The other man looked very uncomfortable, obviously not a part of the other two’s tirade. 

“They should know better than to do it in public!” 

“We haven’t done anything!” Miles snapped, “He’s injured, you dense fuck-“ He stepped towards the man, shoulders up and tensed. Dark, pronounced veins began appearing in his neck behind his collar and up his arms where Waylon had a death grip. If he didn’t calm down, these people were going to get hurt, and Miles would be giving away their location.

In a split second Waylon was in front of him, stepping onto the toes of his runners and snaking his arms tight around the taller man’s neck so he could reach his lips with his own. Miles’ mouth didn’t react right away, but he instantly relaxed, fists uncurling and shoulders coming undone so Waylon could pull him down further. 

When the blond pulled away, Miles’ eyes were closed, opening for a split second to reveal pitch-black irises and whites, but they soon disappeared with the dark veins and were replaced with dark amber rings. His face softened, ignoring the noises of disgust from the tailgate trio, hooded eyes staring down at Waylon’s lips.

“Pick up your bags, get in the car.” 

It was delayed, but eventually Miles did as he was told, picking up the bags and dragging himself after Waylon and getting into the passenger seat after dropping the groceries in the back. 

He leant back against the window the ride home, resting his head on his hand and staring at Waylon while he drove with a dazed look on his face. This mischievous look scared Waylon almost as much as the Walrider did. 

“How’d you know that would work?” 

Waylon blushed profusely, “I didn’t.” 

Miles’ neutral expression turned goofy in a millisecond, shaking his head and sniggering to himself. “Do you do that a lot, Waylon? You don’t strike me as the type to go out on a limb.” 

“I am-” Waylon placed a hand on his chest to feign offense, “-the epitome of bravery and whit. I don’t know how you could say something like that.” 

“Sure, Mr. Park, your anxious tendencies and emo haircut really has everybody quaking in their boots, how do you do it?” 

“I’m serious!” Waylon cuffed him a bit before self-consciously running his hand through his hair, “I didn’t know what to do, you were going to hurt those people.” 

“They deserved it,” added Miles, “But I’m not complaining. Your way is better.” 

Surprisingly enough, the mood was not awkward or tense at all the entire drive home. Miles let Waylon play his radio station without complaint and sang along playfully to a few of the songs he knew. Waylon knew it was stupid of him to do, but it seemed to have calmed whatever Walrider induced episode Miles had been going through, and that was enough for him. 

~~~

When they arrived home, Blake was a little ticked at not getting his Flaming Hot Cheetos (Waylon made a mental note to remember that, not Doritos), but quickly forgave the duo when he saw the chocolate bars.

Just minutes before, Miles had been banished from the kitchen. He leaned against the dining room table, pouting and sulking with arms crossed as Blake and Waylon maneuvered around the small kitchen. 

Waylon was a good teacher, and very patient, probably from raising two boys. Blake had been listening carefully as he explained what he was doing to the dough, but still he didn’t think he could do it himself without the older man there. Regardless, he enjoyed himself, it was menial and took his mind off the past few weeks even just for a few hours. 

“Can I come help now?” 

“Actually, yeah, come put what you want on it.” 

Miles basically shot up off the table and snuck around Blake, dipping his hand into a bag of shredded cheese and pouring it generously onto the pizza that had been designated for him. 

“Miles slow down,” chuckled Blake, “You’re going to eat all the cheese.” 

“Bite me,” the younger man snapped with no malice, “Pizza is a canvas, I am the artist, and the artist is always right.” 

“I’m pretty sure you used both of those phrases wrong.” 

“Whatever.” 

It was nice, peaceful even. Though it only took a few hours out of their day it was something, and the outcome was just as good as the time they spent making it. Fresh food, after eating canned and fast food for weeks, was a godsend, and put all three of them in a good mood. 

That night they all sat in front of the fireplace and played cards, a bunch of different games that they never really got to the end of because Miles was a sore loser and would always side-swipe the table as soon as there was any sign of another person winning. 

It was Blake’s turn for the couch, which took a while to convince Miles to accept after the talk of nightmares the night before. Eventually he settled, tired but restless beside Waylon’s frail, shaking form. That was one thing Miles noticed was no matter how many blankets he put on him, and no matter how happy he seemed that day, Waylon always shook at night. It worried him, he thought about asking him about it on a few occasions, but Waylon was always up before him and seemingly left the night behind him. 

Tonight was the same. The whirring in Miles’ head seemed louder for some reason even though he was even more content than he had been all week, and kept him awake for hours into the night. He was considering going outside for a smoke, maybe going for a walk, but Waylon’s shaking suddenly turn into full body shudders and he began crying into his pillow. 

_“I’m sorry…”_ he whispered, _”Eddie, I didn’t mean it…”_ The older man started sobbing violently, muffled into the pillow but so obvious to Miles from his spot beside him. 

“Waylon,” he whispered, but it seemed to make things worse. 

_”I-I’ll be good, I swear-“_ cried Waylon, _“Ed-Eddie please-“_

“Way, c’mon,” Miles put a hand on his shoulder and tried to shake him gently awake but he convulsed, jumping away from the contact. “Oh fuck it-“ 

The older man’s skin was hot and feverish, presumably from his anxiety attack, and there were tears on his face and lips that made the kiss salty, but it wasn’t for Miles’ enjoyment so it didn’t matter. 

At least, that’s what Miles had told himself. 

Waylon’s eyes shot open, wide and panicked, frantically looking around for a heavy set man with an undercut, but all he could see was Miles’ bedhead, and all he could feel was the man’s heat hovering over him, hot on his lips and where his large hands held his face and shoulder. 

His breathing calmed with his mind, slowly down. Tentatively, he raised a hand up and buried it in Miles’ unruly auburn locks, trying to convey some sort of message that he couldn’t with his mouth full of the other man’s breath. 

As Miles pulled away he left a parting kiss to Waylon’s relaxed lips, staring down at the man as he looked up, dumbfounded and eyes glazed over. 

“Sorry,” Miles muttered under his breath, “You were freaking out.” 

“T-Thanks…” Waylon mumbled, touching his lips. It was strange to feel another person’s lips, especially after not feeling Lisa’s for so long. When they kissed earlier it was quick, heat of the moment, Waylon was frantic and not thinking so he barely had time to process what he was doing, but here in the dark of their bedroom, completely silent except for their breathing and the Walrider’s uneasy drone, he could feel everything. Every muscle moving in Miles’ face, every piece of stubble that grazed his jaw, every heave of his chest as he breathed a calming wave into Waylon. 

It didn’t feel wrong to either of them. Waylon told himself it was fine, just a quick moment to settle nerves so both of them could rest, and Miles told himself the same; that it wasn’t out of desperation or loneliness. He didn’t even consider attraction, that was too ridiculous a notion. 

“The asylum?” Waylon nodded, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

“It was E-Eddie,” he said as Miles dropped down beside him, pulling Waylon into his side. “The Groom, the one I told you about…” 

Miles remembers completely. When Waylon explained the hulking groom and his strange obsession with finding the perfect bride, Miles said a silent thank you to somebody out there in the universe that he had avoided that block completely, unsure of how he would have handled the whole situation. 

“I-I’m afraid of him, I hate him, but I couldn’t help but feel bad…” Waylon huffed, “I read his file and he went through so much shit, no wonder he was so fucked.” The blond sniffed suddenly, wiping his eyes, “They all deserved so much better…” 

“Hey,” Miles squeezed him, “You said he died?” Waylon nodded, “Better than being Murkoff’s chew toy. Those patients needed real help and they were being exploited, but it’s not your fault.” 

Waylon calmed a bit, wiping the tears from his eyes and nodded, “I guess so.” 

“God, you and Blake are really ageing me…”

That was the last thing either of them said, Waylon slowly drifting off as Miles ran is fingers through the smaller man’s sandy blond tresses, trying to sooth him back to sleep.

Little did either of them know, these kisses would be the first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every day I am struck with the urge to make this as painful as fucking possible, but it's so fun and sweet and I'm liking writing a softer side of the boys. I might write another fic when I'm finished that is actually my canon and ruins my life. 
> 
> Anyways, like always, tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s up?” 
> 
> “Not much anymore, thanks to you.” 
> 
> Waylon fought back a grin but failed, “You know what I mean.” 
> 
> “I’m just… thinking.” 
> 
> “Stop thinking,” Waylon groaned, “You always tell us we think too much, take your own advice.” 
> 
> “Don’t be cheeky,” Miles smiled but it faltered, “I’m thinkin’ about you – and me. We’re both in a weird place, I just don’t…” he reached over and linked fingers with the blond, “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, school and work are really kicking my ass. But hopefully the summary gave you the gist of what's going to happen in this chapter, and I hope it makes up for my late update. 
> 
> Let me know if anything is incorrect/ooc.

It was funny how Waylon missed the small things, like being able to afford enough eggs for pancakes. On their latest trip to the grocery store Miles found a box of instant mix that they thought they might want later, so he was putting it to use. The butter was slightly burnt from being left on the burner too long but pancakes were pancakes, and the smell was still tantalizing despite it being cheap instant mix. 

He was the first one to wake, unable to sleep after the nightmare ordeal the night before. Miles drifted off quickly, involuntarily pulling Waylon onto his chest. It was comforting at first, but eventually the situation settled in Waylon, and he realized what was happening. It wasn’t a crime to find solace in somebody who had experienced the same horrors you did, but it was unhealthy to emulate something like a relationship, or hope for one, when you’re both in a vulnerable spot. Waylon was missing Lisa something awful, and Miles had been missing somebody for years. 

A chiselled jaw rested gently on his shoulder, a bare chest flat against his back as arms snaked around his waist and pulled him a bit closer. Without looking he could tell it was Miles, smaller and harder than Blake, and short stubble that came with regular shaving scraping across his cheek. 

In this moment, the younger man’s heat across his back and their hips flushed, all thoughts of the night before vanished. 

“Oh my god, you’re a saint.” 

Miles smiled, burying his head in Waylon’s shoulder with a groan. The blond snickered and gently pried the man off his back with an elbow so he could flip the pancake like he had originally planned, even though he would much rather have him stay there for the duration of the day. 

“What’s the plan for today then?” asked Waylon, watching Miles manoeuvre around the kitchen to make his coffee. From here he could see that he put on a pair of Blake’s oversized sweatpants, but didn’t bother putting on a shirt. His back was riddled with marks, deep puckered scars that must have been where the militia shot at him. It seemed so ridiculous that any man could survive that, he wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t know what he did. 

“Can’t we just see where the wind takes us?” Miles quipped, “Actually, I was thinking...” 

“Uh-oh, that’s never good,” yawned Blake, staggering into the kitchen in nothing but sweats. 

“Fuck off,” the brunette snapped, “The other day I found your camera-“ Waylon froze, “Would you… I don’t know, would you let me watch it?” 

“I-I don’t-“ 

“Way, you don’t have to,” Miles stepped towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “One of us should though. We have to start thinking about getting back at Murkoff, I need to know how much of the footage is usable, then we can give it to Juan. Plus I lost my camera at the asylum.” 

The whole room went silent other than the quiet sizzling of batter on the stove, Waylon rubbed his jaw and stared at the ground, deep in thought. Neither of the younger men interrupted, just let him think. 

“Some of it I’d rather…” Waylon pulled his lip between his teeth, “I’d rather not be out there for everybody to see. I’ll watch it, I’ll tell Juan what to send.” 

Miles nodded slowly, pulling Waylon flush against his chest to comfort him. The blonde returned the embrace, burying his chest in the soft skin of the crook of his neck. Miles was so brave for that, and it was both a blessing and a curse. On his own he would have never thought to relive the horrors on that tape, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to push the memories aside, and maybe getting them out there would help him forget once and for all, he could let Murkoff go. 

“I also have some tapes,” Blake interjected, “I don’t think I’m ready to watch them.” 

“You don’t have to,” Miles turned to him, “We’ll wait, but it has to happen eventually. I can watch them for you, if you want.” 

“No, I need to be there. I need to know what was real. Just…” he ran a hand through his overgrown locks, “Not yet.” 

~~~

Throughout the week they spent at the cabin, the found many clues that lead to somebody else actually living here before them. First it was the board games, then it was an old television hidden in the closet in the bedroom, then the video game console they found in the basement. Ever since, Blake had been eager to set it up, find a place for the TV, see if the console was working, but they were yet to find the video games, and Miles was sure there were none there. The cabin was small and he was sure they would have already come across some if there had been any, until one day Waylon went into the basement for something and came back with a box of cartridges. 

“Where’d you find those?” laughed Blake, digging through the box still in Waylon’s arms. 

“They were under one of the cabinets, right beside the furnace.” 

“I hope they’re still working then,” Blake smiled down at him, “Let’s try it out.” 

Miles had been on the phone all day, sorting things out between multiple associates. No matter how many times he tried, he still wouldn’t let Blake contribute, no matter what he said. The youngest of the trio was also the hardiest, still yet to have a breakdown like the other two had. Waylon thought maybe it was the Walrider interfering with some sort of emotional pattern, but Blake knew it was just the way Miles was. Sooner or later, all this pushing past things and ignoring them would catch up to him. 

“I’m telling you- No, Jay, listen!” 

Blake and Waylon looked up from their work on the console in direction of the porch, where Miles was on the phone. They felt helpless in this situation, letting the brunette tell them what they could and couldn’t do, but it worked out so far, and it let them get their bearings.

“He needs to relax,” said Blake suddenly, “This’ll be good for all of us.” 

Waylon paused his tinkering with the Nintendo, “I hope so.” He closed the backing and hooked it up to the old television, trying to sort out the audio and video situation. “God, I’ve missed video games.” 

“You’re a gamer?” 

“Surprise, surprise,” they both chuckled, “My boys are into all the new stuff though, it’s been a while since I’ve played a classic.” 

“Well,” stated Blake, “We’ve got Metroid, Kid Icarus, Legend of Zelda… and Castlevania.”

“Oh Castlevania please, which one is it?” 

“Simon’s Quest?” 

“Do it.” 

Luckily the old cabin had been updated with some, if not few, power outlets. They had to sit the bulky screen on the floor and propped themselves up against the couch, but when the loading screen finally made it’s way onto the TV, a weight lifted off both their shoulders, eager to get lost in the virtual 8-bit world. The familiar lobby music started up and Waylon was brought back to his childhood, gripping the controller tight in his hands. 

The noise of the background music and the men’s laughter drowned out Miles’ exasperated noises from the porch. This was fun, more fun than either Waylon or Blake had in a long time. Blake thought he’d had his fair share of ghouls and horrific sights but there was something about the low-res game and familiar music that comforted him. He wasn’t Simon, and he would never want to experience what Simon went through throughout his Castlevania escapades, but he could help him escape, and that’s what mattered. 

“That’s fine,” Miles stated as he shut the screen door to the cabin a little too loud behind him, “I get it, you don’t have to tell me twice.” He plopped down on the couch behind the two men on the floor, burying his hand in Blake’s hair. “Don’t make any moves until I watch the tapes, it’s important, Jay, you really- Ugh, just- I’ll talk to you later!” He hung up, huffing and draping himself over one of Blake’s shoulders to get a better look at the screen. 

“You got it working?” 

“Yeah, Waylon did.” 

“But it’s… It’s not very good, is it?” 

The blond paused the game and both men turned to Miles, staring at him accusingly. 

“What?” 

“It’s a classic, Miles,” Blake explained, “Have you never heard of Castlevania?” 

“I vaguely remember the name, but no, I don’t think I’ve played your old person game.” 

“Fucks sake, Miles,” Waylon grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto the ground beside him, thrusting the controller forcefully into his lap. “This button cracks the whip, this button jumps, kill all the vampires.” 

“Kill the vampires…” Miles stared down at the controller then up at Way, “With a whip?” 

“The whip is enchanted,” explained Blake. 

“Oh- Okay, I just-“ he approached one of the vampires on screen and pressed the attack button, sending it into a heap of flames. “I guess… This is the whole thing?” 

“It’s a story too,” Waylon reached over and placed his thumb over another button, “It’ll be hard with your…” 

“Missing digits?” 

“Yeah, but if you press this one you throw holy water.” 

“Alright, I-“ He stretched his finger a little further to do as he was told, blue pixels to represent the water raining down on his next assailant. “How old is this?” 

“Older than you,” Blake chuckled, “The story goes that you defeated Dracula, but he put a curse on you. So in this game you have to get back Dracula’s parts and bring them back to his castle to cure the curse.” 

“Why is this dude killing Dracula though? I mean, he’s beefy and all but isn’t there somebody else that could be doing it?” 

“He’s a vampire hunter,” Waylon laughed, “That’s his thing. Plus, this is like a thousand years ago, it runs in his family.” 

“Well, shitty for him.” Miles pressed a button rather exaggeratedly, cracking the whip multiple times, “And his family.” 

“You have no idea, there are like twenty more.” Explained Blake. 

“All this guy?” 

“No, it’s his kids too. All stubborn and just as eager to get into shit as Simon.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Blake smiled over at Miles, but he was too invested in the hoard that was swarming him, and suddenly a flash covered the screen, and a GAME OVER title appeared. 

“Ahh shit,” Miles huffed, deflating back onto the ground. “You wanna try, Blake?” 

“I don’t…” He sighed and rubbed his neck, “I don’t think I can.” 

Way understood what he meant immediately. On instinct, Blake’s hands flexed and stretched before smoothing out on his lap. 

“Hey,” the blond got his attention, “That just means we have to finish the game before your hands heal up, right?” 

However weak, Blake did smile back at him. It seemed he didn’t think his hands would ever heal, or maybe that they didn’t have the time to wait. In that moment, both Miles and Waylon swore to stop that pessimistic thinking. 

~~~

“Just uh…” Blake ran a hand through his hair with a huff, “If you need something just… tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“Blake…” Miles reached over to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have to.” 

“I know, but I should.” He spoke but his eyes were trained elsewhere, “I want to know what happened…” 

The brunette nodded solemnly, walking back over to the den where Waylon was trying to sort out the connection to the camera. His hands were shaking, jerking too violently to allow him to connect the proper wires. Miles made his way over, pushing the wires into the correct jacks and wrapping his arms protectively around Waylon’s midsection so he could pull him back against the couch, careful of his injured ankle. Waylon complied, numb but stiff in Miles’ firm grip. He settled onto his lap and let his weight fall back, understanding that this was as much for Miles as it was for him. Much of what he saw Miles had as well, and it would be just as jarring for them both. 

The connection was blurry at first, a mess of static and a vignette around the screen that went away when Blake adjusted the cables, then settled down on the couch beside them. 

The screen was dark, and suddenly there was a flash of light, and Waylon’s face came into the picture for only a split second. He looked dazed, but scared out of his mind. He felt large hands tighten around his sides, the situation finally settling into both of the men who had explored the asylum. 

_“Pretty flower,”_ somebody called outside of the room, _“I’ll open you up… Open you up and show you – Make you purr!”_

 _“Jesus fucking Christ…”_ Blake whispered, a hand over his mouth. 

Waylon began running, a patient passing by him staring straight into the camera, then another chasing him into a room covered in gore. His panting breath could be heard over the panic outside, he paused for a few moments, then burst out of the room, clambering over some fallen obstacles until he reached the room where they had a guard strapped to a table. 

“I never- This must have been before I got there.” Miles mumbled, “You’re shaking so much, it’s hard to tell where you are.” 

“Just below ground level,” explained Waylon, “This was… The riots were just starting. Billy just reached lateral ascension…” he trailed off as the man at the table began yelling, screaming at him and threatening his life he didn’t _join in on the fun._

Waylon climbed a few more obstacles, avoided many dead bodies, and picked up a couple batteries before making it to a new part of the asylum, one he knew all too well. His eyes shut and his breathing picked up, body tense as he tried to calm himself down. Miles must have noticed, pulling him closer against him and whispering softly. 

“What’s wrong, Way?” 

“C-Can we uh-“ He motioned to Blake, “Can you f-fast forward, Frank is coming u-up.” 

“Skip over it?” 

“N-No just-“ he breathed deeply, “Just faster, I just want to get this over with.” 

Blake quickly stood from the couch and walked over to the camera, pressing a few buttons to speed up the tape. Although faster, it was still painstaking, having to watch this and relive it over again. Frank chasing him through the halls was still fresh in his mind, his voice and hands ever so vivid. 

He could still feel the heat from the crematorium. Hot white flames licking at his bare feet and hands as he broke down the wall to escape. The same crushing claustrophobia he experienced gripping him even now. Again, he shut his eyes, burying himself deep into Miles’ arms, but the younger man was still. 

Until the camera cleared, revealing the church. 

A hum filled the air, a static drone nobody could blame on the TV. Miles became warm, overheating like a machine, and a black film covered their arms like the Walrider was tugging him close as well. It was unsettling, but Waylon found comfort in it, like a blanket covering his whole body, trying to sooth him. 

“I didn’t see this section…” Miles whispered, “Did you see him? Father Martin?” 

“This was Father Clarke’s area,” Waylon murmured, “but you must have.” 

“He knew all along, crazy fucker…” was all Miles had to say about it, with no further explanation. Waylon understood, Miles had told him about how Father Martin lit himself up like an evergreen on Christmas Eve, saying he did it for the Gospel of the Walrider. He remembers being on the other side of the asylum, looking out the window and seeing the chapel in flames, Father Martin long gone. 

A flash of grey appeared on the screen, a smoky black cloud enveloped the camera for a moment, almost sending Waylon tumbling down the elevator shaft he was climbing. Miles’ hum got louder, tensing up behind the smaller man. 

“Was that…” Whispered Blake, presumably awestruck and horrified. 

“Yeah, but it’s not me.” 

A few moments of rushed climbing and running went by when another figure appeared on the screen, then two more. Three patients, a few metres away, but still obviously in a state of panic, running away from something. 

“Chris…” 

The smoky tendrils around Waylon tightened, the humming becoming unpredictable and frightening, changing pitch sporadically. Blake shot up from the couch and slammed the off button on the TV, yanking the cables from the camera. 

“That’s enough,” he huffed, falling back onto the couch, “Your eyes were changing, that’s enough.” 

“Another day…” Miles stood slowly, humming relaxing but not ceasing, and pulling Waylon with him. 

“I don’t think… I don’t think I’m sleeping tonight.” Waylon murmured, letting himself be pulled back onto the couch. “More games?” 

“How about Zelda?” Blake managed a small smile, “I think I’ve had enough violence for one night.” 

~~~

Blake tried staying awake, but the soft comforting tunes from the television set slowly lulled him to sleep. Legend of Zelda had always been a favourite of his, and he could find some comfort in the familiarity of the Hyrule sounds. Looking rather uncomfortable sprawled out across the ground, Miles eventually managed, with some struggling, to get him into the bedroom. 

“He’s done it to me enough,” chuckled Miles, “It feels weird returning the favour.” Waylon nodded, though staring distractedly down at his controller. “You want tea?” 

“Green, please,” Waylon called, followed by a muffled _‘shit’_ and the sounds of things falling from the kitchen cupboards, meaning somebody was in need of assistance. Reluctantly, the blond paused the game so he could get up and help the younger man. 

“I think Blake drank it all!” He called, and startled when Waylon reached over his shoulder to grab the box of tea off the shelf. “Fuck, Way, please!” the brunette clutched a hand to his chest, “I’m already on my fucking toes tonight.” 

“Sorry,” chuckled Waylon, setting the box down. “I’ll do it.” 

Waylon set out to make the tea, much more efficient hobbling on his sore ankle than Miles with eight fingers. He was still getting used to them, but was taking to it surprisingly fast. Being a tech, Waylon couldn’t imagine even losing one. 

He looked up from the boiling kettle to said man, leaning on the counter with a hand in his hair. He looked tired again, vulnerable, like he did on the drive up there. Watching that tape had opened many wounds, some felt like old scars and others like fresh tears in tissue that touched bone, but it needed to be done. It must have done something to the Walrider as well, it still hadn’t stopped humming. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“What?” 

“It’s really loud tonight, is it just because of the videos?” 

“I’m tense,” he sighed, rubbing his shoulders. “I miss my bath.” 

“We have a bath,” Waylon smirked, motioning to the hallway with the washroom. 

“A _real bath,”_ Miles shut his eyes and leaned his head against the cupboards, “With bubbles and jets and shit. My apartment may have been small, but she sure got the job done.” 

The water began boiling, the kettle letting out a high whistle, cueing Waylon to pour it. He picked up both cups and motioned for Miles to follow him back into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table so he could pulled Miles between his legs on the floor. 

“What’re you-“ he paused when hands came down on his shoulders, kneading into the knots in his muscles. “Oh…” 

“Yeah, _oh,”_ chuckled Waylon, “Damn, you are tense.” 

“I told you,” he hummed quietly, letting himself sink back against the cushions. Although the tension was being worked out and Miles seemed to be relaxing, the Walrider’s static tumult didn’t cease. 

“Was it… Chris? Do you think?” 

“Probably,” Miles shook his head, “Chris heard the good word but he didn’t want the Walrider getting out.” He winced a bit at the memory, “Even now there’s this… conflict going on. I want to feel bad for Walker, but the Walrider feels so strongly about him, it won’t let me.” 

“It has an opinion?” 

“No I think it retains a bit from it’s host,” Miles shook his head, “It doesn’t hate him, but maybe Billy… maybe Billy and him were close, you know?” 

“I see.” 

“And maybe Billy felt betrayed,” he sighed, “I don’t know, I’m still not sure why it likes you so much.” 

“Are you saying you don’t like me?” Waylon fake scoffed, “I’m also surprised, Billy should have hated me, I was the one who kept the system up and running.”

“Do you think maybe you-“ Miles turned around, looking up at Waylon, “I don’t know, do you think maybe you fucked up somehow?”

“What do you mean?” 

“They didn’t expect Billy to do it so soon, what if you made a mistake and-“ 

“And let him free…” Waylon whispered, leaning back into the couch. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but it made so much sense. If he was the one who kept Billy in check, he might have been the one who let the Walrider go. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? On one hand, it caused an all-out riot in the asylum, killed multiple people, and took over Miles’ body. On the other, it was the reason he was still alive, and is the reason that Murkoff would be exposed for everybody to see. Regardless, he was suddenly stricken with guilt. 

Miles must have noticed, clued in on the pause, and decided to snap him out of it. He leaned up gently, burying his fingers deep into the longer hair at the back of Waylon’s head and pulling him down, bringing their mouths together. With the breath practically stolen from his lungs, Waylon came to, eyes wide but not scared. He melted into it, letting Miles stand without breaking the kiss so he could straddle Waylon’s lap for better access. It was slow and soothing, a hint of tongue with no teeth, almost in a rhythm. Maybe this was what they both needed, a distraction that was a bit more in-the-moment than video games. 

The brunette noticed himself getting a bit carried away, pulling his teeth from their gentle grip on Waylon’s bottom lip and completely away, pupils blown inhumanly dilated as he stared down at Waylon’s eyes, one hand roaming his huffing chest. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “You just looked so fucking sad for a second there.” 

“It’s fine,” Waylon smiled faintly, letting his hand find the side of Miles’ face.

“You’re married…” he whispered like it was a secret that somebody in the room might overhear, but he still leaned into the pressure.

“I love Lisa, but I haven’t been in love with Lisa for a long time,” he ran a thumb along Miles’ pronounced cheekbone, “She’s my best friend, always has been and always will be, but we’re just together for the kids.” 

Miles stared down at him, brow furrowed and taught like he was thinking hard. If Blake were there, he might make a joke about how Miles was going to hurt himself, but Waylon knew how that must have sounded. Insensitive? Maybe. Hard to believe? Most definitely. 

_“What am I to you?”_ the brunette whispered. 

“I don’t know,” was the blonde’s response, and like an answer to that, as if to say _’then let’s figure it out’_ , Miles dipped down again, kissing the older man with more passion than before. 

With strength he didn’t know he had, Waylon wrapped his hands around Miles’ thighs and pulled them closer, huffing chests and flushed hips meeting and sealing together like their lips. There wasn’t a single inch of the their mouths unexplored, and when it was finished, Miles pulled away, leaving sucking kisses along Waylon’s jaw. 

“I’m glad you shaved,” he mumbled into the soft flesh, earning him a giggle, but it was short lived as teeth scraped across sensitive skin behind his ear, and he breathed in a sharp breath. “Sensitive?” 

“It’s uh-“ Waylon stammered, “It’s been a while.” 

“Me too,” responded Miles, dipping his hands under Waylon’s shirt to feel across his ribs, tickling him there as well. Suddenly he became self-conscious, and Miles must have noticed, letting his hands slide down to his hips. “Way, this doesn’t have to go anywhere.” 

“What if I want it to…” 

Miles smirked, “Really now?” he leaned in, “You let me know then, okay?” his breath was hot in Waylon’s ear, “Tell me if you like it, or if you want to stop.” 

The blond nodded, eyes shut tight and groin twitching under the larger man’s weight. “Have you ever done anything with a man before?” 

“No…” he mumbled, “Never.” 

“I’ll go first then,” Miles began licking and kissing at his neck again, only stopping to pull his own shirt over his head. “Can I take off yours now?” Waylon nodded, giving him the go ahead to help him pull his garment off. He sat back a bit, taking in the sight of the older man’s bare chest and stomach. Soft hands caressed his sides, over his shoulders and chest then back down to his hips again. 

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, “You’re so handsome.” The words were so gentle, spoken so softly, but the growing hum behind his brain was getting more and more apparent. 

“You’re one to talk…” Miles grinned at his reply, and maybe Waylon would have smiled back if he wasn’t so nervous. 

“Stop that,” Miles grabbed the other man’s hands and put them on his own hips above his ass, “You know I mean it.” He let his hands trail down his sides even more, catching a finger in his belt loop. Waylon’s breath caught in his throat, understanding the insinuation. “Just breath baby, can I do this?” 

Waylon managed a nod, trying not to seem so urgent. Miles’ left hand, with an index finger, unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and pulled down the zipper, relieving some of the uncomfortable pressure in Waylon’s lap. It was so silly, to be this nervous and excitable. Miles was young, there was no way he had more experience than Waylon, but this seemed like a whole new ballpark, especially after having one partner for so many years. He let those thoughts go, giving him a new sense of confidence.

He let his hands wander, grabbing fistfuls of Miles’ ass as he undid his own jeans, and pulling them flush against each other. Taken aback by his forwardness, Miles wrapped an arm around the blonde’s neck, steadying himself, mouth agape. 

“Holy shit…” he whispered, eyes shut tight. The pressure between them was heavenly, even though it was dulled by the thick denim between them. Miles had been wanting this since he set his eyes on Waylon as the Walrider, since it engrained his imagine in his brain. _’Protect the Whistleblower, Save the Whistleblower,’_ it repeated like a mantra, and again that voice returned, sitting at the back of his mind. _’Protect the Whistleblower.’_

So suddenly Miles flipped them, jarring Waylon slightly but pulling him back onto his lap, a much more comfortable position for them both.

“Here,” Waylon pulled a hand between them, kneading Miles’ cock through his boxers, “Is this okay?” 

“Y-Yeah that’s, oh fuck-“ Miles worried his lip as Waylon pulled him out, pushing his boxers underneath and out of the way. His head fell forward, exchanging sloppy kisses between the two men, that turned even sloppier when Waylon began pumping him, getting him harder and thicker, bringing him closer to release. “I thought you said you’d never…” 

“I haven’t,” Waylon used his other hand to pull himself out, “Give me your hand.” Miles did as he was told, reaching for Waylon’s hand only to have it wrapped around both of their shafts, already slick with Miles’ precum. 

“Oh god, Waylon,” he whispered, “Such a good boy.” 

That struck something in Waylon, making him bite down on his finger as Miles pumped them together, hips lifting slightly with a moan as he thrust into the touch. 

“You like that?” snickered Miles, “So perfect Waylon, you’re so good to me.” Waylon’s mouth fell open, giving Miles free reign to lick his way inside, knocking teeth and muffling the sounds he was making. The drone became louder, almost worryingly so, and it occurred to Waylon for a split second that between the Walrider and their own noises of pleasure, they might wake up Blake, but it was shut down when Miles’ squeezed up his shaft, rubbing a thumb on his head. 

“Do you want this?” Miles asked, but without the dirty tone, “Do you really want this, Waylon?” 

“Stop worrying,” Waylon reached between them, taking over the pace, “Relax, Miles, please.” 

The please did it for Miles, pulling Waylon that little bit closer, anything to get them as close as possible. They were both close to release, he could tell, and he wanted to feel every inch of Waylon around him, relax completely and lose himself in him. 

But it was when he relaxed that the Walrider took it’s opportunity. 

After a rather sporadic thrust, Miles’ relaxed eyes shot open, revealing pure black voids. Waylon didn’t seem to notice, or he didn’t care, because he continued to pump them both in rhythm, the squelching of fluids between them almost as loud as the hum. The brunette’s head fell back against the couch, smoke leaving his mouth like he had just taken a drag from a cigarette, surrounding them like a veil, covering Waylon’s shoulders and urging them forward. It raked its tendrils gently across his back, his neck, all down his jean-clad thighs. It wanted to caress Waylon, it wanted to feel what Miles was feeling. 

“Fuck Miles, I’m close,” he moaned, feeling the warmth spread in his stomach and the Walrider across his back, wicking away the sweat there. 

“Me too,” Miles assured him, _“Good boy, Waylon,”_ his voice suddenly changed, _”Come for me, baby-“_

He was interrupted by Waylon tensing, his head coming forward to rest on Miles’ shoulder as thick ropes of come shot across both of their chests and down both their cocks. He moaned loudly, tightening his grip on them, which sent Miles over the edge too, biting down on Waylon’s neck to muffle the noise and his own release mixing with the blonde’s. They sat still for a moment, both coming down from the high of pleasure, until Waylon sighed and rolled off him, letting his legs tangle with Miles’. 

When he opened his eyes they were brown again, no sign of the Walrider except for the fading static drone that followed Miles wherever he went. He looked sated, and content, but not quite happy, which worried Waylon a bit. He reached up and brushed Miles’ sweaty locks from his face, getting a good look at him. 

“What’s up?” 

“Not much anymore, thanks to you.” 

Waylon fought back a grin but failed, “You know what I mean.” 

“I’m just… thinking.” 

“Stop thinking,” Waylon groaned, “You always tell us we think too much, take your own advice.” 

“Don’t be cheeky,” Miles smiled but it faltered, “I’m thinkin’ about you – and me. We’re both in a weird place, I just don’t…” he reached over and linked fingers with the blond, “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” 

Waylon sat up, weary of his aching ankle, tucking himself back inside his jeans. Then he leaned forward, capturing Miles’ already kiss-swollen lips in another embrace, chaste and sweet. 

“I thought it might have been a comfort thing at first,” he explained, helping Miles pull his jeans back over his hips, “But it’s something else. A bit of that, but it’s… there’s something else there.” 

“You’re not just desperate? You’re not… I don’t know, filling a void?” 

Waylon leaned back, “Is that how you feel?” 

“No!” Miles followed him, trailing kisses across his collarbone, purposely avoiding the cum, “No, no, Waylon, it’s not like that at all, please, you just lost so much.” 

“I’m fine, Miles, really.” He brought his face up so he could look into his eyes, “But thank you, I couldn’t do this without you.”

Exactly what _it_ was had been left unsaid, because both men knew what he meant. Not just the few minutes of passion before, it was also helping him escape, finding him afterwards, going on and continuing despite how difficult all this was for him. Most of all, for being Blake and Waylon’s metaphorical crutch, despite the inevitability of an oncoming breakdown. Waylon just hoped, when it came to that, both him and Blake were stable enough to return the favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody mentioned that Blake seems a little back-dropped/third wheeling right now, and it's true, but I assure you it'll be his time to shine soon. Right now I'm just working on more Waylon and Miles' development because of the way their relationship is developing. Blake is my baby, and I'd never forget about him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miles?” he whispered, turning to face him, “What time is it?” 
> 
> “It’s… just after two I think.” 
> 
> “Fuck,” Blake groaned, blinking like he was taking in his face, “What’s wrong?” 
> 
> “It’s so fucked, Blake…” he whispered, “You have no idea…” 
> 
> Apparently he wasn’t all cried out, just the thought alone had moisture springing back to his eyes and soon he was sobbing again. The raven haired man didn’t question it, he knew exactly what he meant, so he gently adjusted himself and pulled the brunette closer, muffling the sounds of his cries in his chest and shushing him quietly, trying not to wake or startle Waylon sleeping just centimetres away. 
> 
> “He’s not there anymore, he’s safe now, you’re both safe now.”
> 
> “I-I know but he’s so… ugh, fuck-“ he clutched the larger man a bit tighter, “It’s worse than I thought, I shouldn’t have pushed like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In apology for my absence, here's two chapters in two days, with plenty of crying and Dad Blake™.

Blake remembers Waylon coming upstairs, a box of NES cartridges nestled in his arms. He remembers Castlevania, and watching the Mount Massive tapes on the old TV they set up in the living room. He remembers Miles’ whole demeanour changing, his eyes becoming a milky black and his skin being void of colour in the soft lamplight. After that, he remembers playing Legend of Zelda, and slowly drifting off to the sound of Ganon’s lair. 

What he doesn’t remember is getting into bed, or anything that came after the beginning of the final boss battle. This was surprising, given the events that occurred the night before. The horrors that Miles and Waylon had been subjected to were unlike anything he had seen, or that would be true if he hadn’t found himself lost in the Arizona desert just weeks prior. The tapes felt like salt in the deep gashes of the memories fresh in his head, new but all too familiar. He experienced that same sense of dread, of claustrophobia, of impending doom, and it must have tired him out. He felt around the bedside table, still unwilling to open his eyes, but careful of jarring the sleeping body beside him. At first he thought it was Miles, but the arm across his stomach was a little too light, and the leg slung between his own was just a bit too short, so it must be Waylon. This was rare, usually it was Miles who invaded his side of the bed in the night, unknowing or uncaring of personal space, and Waylon was usually fitful and violent during his slumber.

Finally finding his glasses, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and put them on, turning over to face Waylon and see the state he was in, but what he was not prepared for was Miles as well. The blond was between them both, snug between their shoulders but half on top of Blake. Miles was tucked in behind him, face in his hair, one arm behind his head and the other wrapped protectively around his midsection. 

If Blake wasn’t a man of few words, he might find something to say about this sight. It was refreshing, relaxing, welcomed after the hell they had experienced, but the conclusion he came to was that he was fucked.

Utterly and completely _fucked._

 

Miles looked relaxed, breathing softly onto the back of the blonde’s head and leaning further into his warmth. Waylon looked completely serene too lying there, head almost resting on his chest. They looked absolutely fucking adorable and it was weighing on Blake, he shouldn’t be looking at them like that, but he was so desperate for attention, he had been for so much longer than this whole ordeal…

He could feel his sandy blond tresses against the bare skin of his shoulder, his hand twitching a bit against his side, and it made him wonder how he didn’t wake up throughout all the commotion. It was obviously daytime, so he must have slept all the way through the night. Then he noticed it. Waylon’s hair was completely dry, but Miles’ hair was much thicker, and slightly damp against the pillow. Not only that, but the white t-shirt Waylon was wearing rode down a bit, revealing a large suck bruise on his shoulder, and smaller ones behind his ears. Blake realized in that moment he was glad he was such a deep sleeper. 

The youngest of the trio stirred suddenly, letting out a soft noise and stretching out from behind Waylon. He rolled over, hovering over the side of the bed just a bit before falling to the ground with a loud yelp that made Waylon practically shoot up off the bed, almost head-butting Blake in the process. 

“Ow,” he groaned, sitting up from the hardwood floor, “What time is it?” 

“Just after nine,” Blake was met with another groan, “You guys sure are tired.” 

“It’s too early,” Waylon whined, falling back onto the bed and nuzzling into Blake’s shoulder again, “Miles since you’re up, go make coffee.” 

“I’m not your bitch, but since I’m such a nice person,” Waylon huffed a laugh and deflected the sock that was thrown in his face, knocking it back onto the floor. Blake was glad to see spirits where high, obviously whatever they got up to last night was relaxing, perhaps _cathartic_ for lack of a better term. 

“You two seem… happy.” 

“Mhm,” said Way, muffled in the sheets and Blake’s shoulder. Even though his face was hidden, the scarlet blush that covered his pale neck and shoulders was obvious, and no amount of freckles could hide it. 

“That’s all you have to say?” 

Waylon’s head shot up, blue eyes boring accusingly into green. “What are you insinuating?” 

“Nothing,” Blake grinned, “Get up, we should go make breakfast or he’s gonna be grumpy.” 

~~~

“I’m seriously concerned for both of our safety.” 

“Can it, Way.” 

“I’m serious, just let me-“ 

“Waylon, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to shove the axe up your ass,” Miles finished his statement with a large puff of smoke and an exaggerating swing, coming down and nearly missing the stump. 

Waylon rolled his eyes, this was exactly what he was talking about. 

“Go back inside, you dork.” The blond stood up from his spot on the porch, “I’ll finish, go get ready for dinner.” 

“Yes, _mom.”_ Miles mumbled around his cigarette as he thrust the axe into his hands in defeat. Waylon just laughed, used to this side of the man by now. Mature and quick, but he lost some of his confident composure when he was proven wrong. For the whole afternoon Waylon had been getting after Miles for trying to cut wood, his hands may have been healed (extremely quickly) but it was too fast for him to have completely gotten the hang of it, and he was extremely unbalanced and uncoordinated.

Leaving Waylon to his own devices, he snuffed out the cigarette with his boot then took them off on the porch, setting them aside before he entered the house. That was something that took getting used to. Miles was quite neat but not very nit-picky. Waylon was the one who enforced the no-shoes rule, Blake the no smoking in the house rule, and oddly enough they were all thankful for things like that. Little house rules that kept that distracted. 

Oregon in early October was so beautiful in the afternoon, but now it was the evening, and the sun was going down earlier and earlier every night. The cabin was only a bit warmer than outside and his fingers and toes were a bit cold, almost numb. A bath would be nice, more efficient than just a cup of tea to warm him up. 

He should know better than to just barge in, swing the door open without any reservation. He had been scolded enough times for slamming and whipping open doors, but apparently it still hadn’t gotten to him. Blake didn’t react, he continued to lay back against the wall of the bath, steam and soap bubbles covering the top of the water and just reaching the small tattoo on the left side of his chest, clouding his body beneath it. His glasses and clothes were folded neatly on the toilet lid, and his eyes were shut. If he hadn’t spoken, Miles would have thought he was asleep. 

“We’ve talked about this,” his voice was even and calm, “The bathroom is occupied.” 

“Oh, sorry Blake, I didn’t- I thought you would have been finished already.” 

One emerald eye shot up, “You need a bath?” 

Miles nodded, “I just need to warm up.” 

“There won’t be any hot water left, just get in.” 

Miles thought he may have been joking at first, but Blake promptly shut both eyes and made no move to get out. It’s not like Blake had never bathed with him before, but of course those times he was piss drunk and Blake had clothes on. 

The tub was big, but he doubted it was big enough for two full grown men to sit comfortably, especially as tall as Blake was. Nevertheless, he stripped down slowly, in case the joke was still on him, but Blake never reopened his eyes, never adjusted himself, he just sat there quietly. 

All his worries about the situation faded when he sunk down into the water. It must have been extremely hot when Blake got in, because it was still quite warm now, enough for steam to fog the mirrors and window and seep into his pours, turning his chest pink. He relaxed, sitting up on the other side of the large tub, head propped against the wall, and tan legs folded over Blake’s pale ones. 

“So,” the older man began, “You and Way, how long has that been going on?” 

“Is this an ambush?” Miles deflected, “You get me naked and vulnerable then you-“ 

“Miles,” he opened his eyes, “Don’t doge the question, you’re both covered in hickies.” 

“I-“ a hand shot up out of the water onto his neck, “Oh. I guess… that makes sense.” He huffed and sunk a little lower in the water, “It’s not really - I don’t know how to word this - it just kinda… you know? Shit happens.” 

“Always so well spoken,” the man chuckled, “You know I only ask because I care about you, I’ve come to care about Way too, I just want to know how you’re both doing. I know you’re not one to deal with things in… the healthiest ways, and Waylon is a sensitive guy.” 

“I didn’t…” Miles began tapping his finger on his chin and zoning out on one of the tiles on the floor, a nervous habit Blake recognized immediately, “I tried to slow him down, make him think about what he was doing. He’s lucid, Blake, this is his decision. He’s never been with a guy before, I don’t think he likes me in _that_ way but it’s… nice. I know he cares, that’s good enough.” 

“Do you like him?”

“Uh Blake, have you seen him? Of course-“ 

“No Miles,” he leaned forward, “Do you like him _that_ way?” 

“I-I don’t…” Miles slumped forward, crossing his legs with his head in his hands, “What the fuck am I doing…” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Blake cooed as tears began dripping down his cheeks and into the soapy water, “You’re okay, Miles, I know you’re confused-“ 

“Confused? Fucking confused?” snapped Miles, “I’m not confused, I’m in love with him, alright? I don’t know whether it’s some fucked up, Stockholm Syndrome shit, or if I’m just miserable and looking for somebody to take care of me, but I fucking love him and I don’t know what to do. What if he pulls a Cory, I couldn’t- What if he sees his wife and wants to go back? I-I don’t think I could handle that.” 

“Miles, he’s not Cory-“ 

“He was sweet too at first,” sniffed the brunette, “So fucking charming…” 

“Miles, listen to me,” Blake shifted forward so he could touch Miles, knocking some of the cooling water out of the overflowing tub, “You can always tell these things from the start. Waylon’s the sweetest fucking man I’ve ever met in my life, and he’s so fucking soft on both of us.” Miles looked up as Blake used a bandaged hand to brush away his bangs, “As for Lisa, she’s gone. I don’t think he could ever look her in the eye again. Besides, if he ever hurt you like that, not that he would, I’d kick his ass.”

Miles grinned through his tears and shot up, wrapping his arms tightly around the larger man’s neck and pulling him close, ignoring the sloshing water threatening to escape. “You couldn’t kick anybody’s ass…” 

Blake laughed, “Thanks for believing in me,” he pulled away, “If you’re warmed up we should head out, I’m fucking starving.” 

~~~

Dinner was spaghetti, minus the meatballs, courtesy of Blake. They were going through supplies much faster than anticipated, and would need to go on a run soon, but money was scarce as well, and it wasn’t like they could just head to an ATM, their accounts were being watched and Juan was the only one that could slip things in and out without notice. It was almost time to call him and figure things out, but not before they finished watching the tapes. 

They didn’t think about that during dinner though. All three of them wanted to go home, but where was home? An empty apartment, or condo, or house in the suburbs? This was as close as they would get for the time being, all three of them squished into the tiny oak table in the kitchen/dining room, enjoying a meal that was slightly overcooked due to Blake’s inexperience. Nobody complained, just shared light banter before the inevitable.

Miles hated doing this to them, but what choice did he have? Funds and gear were low, and soon they would be roughing it out in the woods for what they needed. He had a few cigarettes left, saving them for times that were especially stressful, like right now as he sat on the porch swing, waiting for Blake to set up the TV while Waylon did the dishes. Watching the tapes was tough on him too but there was something else there, probably the Walrider, blocking something in his brain, like it was shielding him from certain things. He hated the tapes, but they didn’t scare him like he thought they would. 

Suddenly his burner phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. Juan was the only one with the number, so Miles answered immediately. 

“Yeah?” 

“Miles?” 

“You know it.” 

“H-Hey buddy, I was just wondering when you’d have those tapes ready-“

“Is something wrong?” Miles leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee. Juan sounded different, nervous almost. Either that or he was tanked, which was unlikely; he hadn’t touch the stuff in years, “Are you shittered?” 

“I’ve had a bit to drink,” the man let out an uneasy laugh, “I just need to get this done with and I’ll be in the area on Sunday, does that work for you?” 

“I can see, but I’m trying my best here.” He took a long drag, “I’m not rushing the boys.” 

“That’s fine, it’s fine, just keep in touch, yeah?” 

“Sure thing, Jay, but-“ the line dropped, cutting of his sentence. What was all that about? Sure, Juan had been rushing him a bit, but he was never pushy like that, careful not to call at random times. He must have been pretty shit-faced. 

After his cigarette was just a filter, he walked back inside, reluctantly making his way to the living room. After his talk with Blake he was a little standoffish, although he was trying not to be, but Waylon didn’t seem to pick up on it. Miles sat on the couch beside Blake, and Waylon sat on the ground between his legs, much like Miles had the night before. 

Waylon often turned the camera off, leaving bits and pieces missing. Suddenly he was outside, being chases and running away from all sorts of different patients, some unrecognizable and others all to familiar. 

“Oh the fucking twins…” Miles groaned. 

“You saw them?” 

“I can’t forget them and their… mutated incest junk, holy shit, that’s a sight that’ll be burned in my mind for eternity.” 

Blake struggled to hold back a smirk, leave it to Miles to make a joke about something like this. 

“Worse than any other horrifying dismembered bodies we came across,” Waylon chuckled, but he still looked uncomfortable, knowing what was to come was worse than anything in the tapes so far. 

“Hey,” Blake nudged him with his leg, obviously noticing his discontent. “We don’t have to keep going, if this is all you can handle for tonight.” 

“Let’s just get it over with,” the eldest sighed, “I’m done with being coddled.” 

Miles was apprehensive to listen, but kept quiet, noting the few times Waylon would tense or grip his pant leg, or shift into his warmth but pass it off like he was getting comfortable. 

On the screen he was now inside, running away from screaming doors, all sorts of inmates running past him or bumping into him, and it was a miracle he didn’t drop his camera. He made a mad dash into a control room, placing his camera on the counter and picking up the radio, but suddenly suited legs appeared in front of the screen, and Waylon fell to the ground and brought the camera with him. Waylon pushed the camera away, scrambling backwards as noises were heard in the background, slamming and glass breaking, then the figure hovered over his body, face just out of sight, pressing a baton into his throat.

“Waylon Park,” a gravelly voice could be heard over the struggle, “You couldn’t just… you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut… You couldn’t just play along, but you’re done talking now!” 

Waylon uncrossed his legs, pulling his knees up to his chest, obviously reliving the scenario. He jumped when a low growl was heard outside, and the figure suddenly stood up, leaving the room hastily. 

“Do me a favour and die here, Park.” 

“Blaire?” Miles leaned forward, and Waylon nodded into his knees. “I’m glad we got the son of a bitch. Come here,” he held his arms out, letting Waylon latch onto him and pull himself up and between Miles’ thighs. This is what he had been itching for the entire time they had been in the living room, but he wanted to show them he wasn’t scared, he could do this by himself with no support, he didn’t need to be coddled. When Miles’ hand landed on his thigh, gently kneading, he knew this was worth shedding the façade. 

Especially when he rounded a corner, Chris bursting through the door. Miles again wished to turn it off, but Waylon was doing well, and Juan was pressuring him for these tapes. He decided to say nothing, even though the blond was gripping his hand a little too tight, and the hair at the back of his own neck and arms was standing up, skin covered in gooseflesh. 

They sped the tape up, passing Father Martin and through the other blocks to outside. Waylon filmed up to turning the breaker off, being chased through the hallway, and suddenly there was a cut and he was inside again.

“I’m such a fucking moron,” Waylon huffed a laugh, “I tried to jump from the tower to this block but the roof caved.” 

“I’m surprised that hasn’t happened more often,” commented Blake, “This place looks old as fuck, how had the patients not already escaped?” 

“Who knows,” Miles interjected, “It happened to me enough, lost my camera twice during these little jumping excursions.” 

The colour suddenly drained from Waylon’s face and he went stock still, causing the Walrider to flair up once again. 

“Blake, you should go, w-we should skip this- both of you should-“ 

“Hey Waylon, slow down,” Blake put a hand on his shoulder, “You look like you’re going to be sick, we’ll take a break-“ 

“I don’t need a break, you just don’t need to fucking see this, I want none of what’s coming up to be shown, I want none of this fucking-“ 

“Waylon,” Miles whispered into the crown of his hair, “Is this Eddie?” the other man nodded, “I think we should keep some of it.” 

The eldest turned around, confusion and anger eminent on his face, “Why the fuck, Miles - what – why would you-“

Miles leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to the smaller man’s, causing him to still with his palms against his chest. He broke away and Waylon looked a bit calmer, but even more ticked off, side-eyeing Blake a bit to see his reaction.

“It’s okay, Way, I understand, but from what I’ve heard they did him real dirty, we should…” he bit his lip a bit, trying to think of a way to word it that didn’t sound insane, “This is gonna sound fucked, but you said it yourself you feel bad for him, I think we should do him some justice. Show them how he went from bad to worse, you know?” 

Waylon stared at the cushion beside them, deep in thought. Miles was prepared for him to lash out, not understanding where he was coming from, and honestly he wouldn’t blame him. What he was saying was totally out of line, but he hoped Way could see the sense in the notion. Even Blake looked tense, no longer slack against the couch cushions like he was ready to pull Waylon off the younger man if need be. 

“I don’t want to be here,” Waylon shook his head, “You can watch it, I don’t need to see it. Just…” he sighed an exasperated sigh, “Tell Juan to cut out the locker part, and everything after that. I don’t need Lisa or the boys knowing about it.” 

Miles nodded, letting Waylon out of his arms so he could stand and head to the bedroom. Blake shot him a look and a “I hope you know what you’re doing,” before following the blond out of the room, hoping to comfort him so he could at least get some sleep tonight. 

~~~

It was so much worse than he had originally thought. 

So much fucking worse. 

He wished he had listened to Waylon. Really, he wished he had shut down the TV, followed the other men into their bedroom, and fallen asleep with a slightly less cloudy conscience. The video continued with Waylon running from Dennis, camera shaking and unsteady as he practically flew down a flight of stairs and into another part of the block, until he stood stock still in front of a sight Miles would never forget. Mutilated bodies, set up to imitate a hospital plateau, a doctor and a “mother giving birth”, but it was so much more horrifying. 

He turned the volume up as Waylon finally started moving again, panting loudly and whispering _“Oh fuck, oh fuck!”_ under his breath over and over. He made it to a door, which seemed to be locked, but suddenly he looked up and there was a disfigured face dead in front of the camera, looking down at him in pure elation. 

This must have been The Groom. 

“Did I frighten you? I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

God, his voice was disgustingly sweet. It was churning Miles’ insides, he felt like he could throw up just from the sound. Waylon kept the camera trained forward, night-vision capturing the hulking man creeping through the ward in search of his ‘bride’. 

“We’ve met before, haven’t we? I know I’ve seen your face. Maybe… just before I woke up.” He must have meant back when Waylon was working as a tech, “Though it seems like a dream now, being here with you.” The words were so… gentle and romantic, it was blatant that the groom had been living in his own little world a long time. 

“Let me fill you up.” Miles almost threw up right then and there, “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You could make me whole. I could fill that emptiness inside you-“ 

He began bristling, not just out of fury. The Walrider was reacting like Waylon was actually in danger, recognizing the man on the screen and what his intentions were. _”Delete! Delete the threat! Protect the Whistleblower!”_

Waylon made a mad dash for the exit, much quieter than Miles had ever been. Maybe it was because he was barefoot, or smaller, but Eddie still seemed to notice. There was writing in blood all over the walls, not unlike Father Martin’s work, but it was sickeningly sweet sayings that you might find out of a romance movie from the 60’s. He began singing, not off-tune or awful, but it had the same affect. A love song about marriage, no doubt older than he was. 

He spotted the latter as Waylon did, rushing towards it with a running start, but it was weak and fell apart, dropping Waylon a story while he gripped the camera to his chest. He let out a cry, shifting so Miles could see that his leg was through the lift box, a piece of shrapnel through his ankle. That must have been how he got his injury, Waylon had never explained. 

“Oh god, are you okay?” Eddie called from the top of the shaft as Way pulled the wood from his leg with a cry, “Tell me you’re okay! I hate to think of you suffering without me.” Miles tried to remember what they had done to this man, but between the Walrider itching to attack and his own feelings about what he had done, he was finding it difficult to feel sorry. 

“Why would you do something like that to yourself? You’d rather… you’d rather die than be with me?” Miles breath caught in his throat, “Then die.” 

Eddie sounded so genuinely hurt. Not only did it make Miles sick to hear, but the Walrider had taken personal offense. It was still bubbling inside him. Way’s night vision snapped back on as he limped into the next room as fast as he could, locking eyes on a locker and hiding himself before Eddie could make it into the room. 

“Hmm. Close, I can...” the groom inhaled deeply, “ah, the smell of my loves arbour.” 

“That’s fear you fucking loon…” the brunette whispered under his breath. 

“Darling, you can’t hide from me!” Eddie called in a singsong voice, and suddenly the whole locker shifted. The man was strong, no doubt, but how could he possibly lift the entire locker, with Waylon in it no less. “You make yourself a gift for me. A delicacy to be unwrapped, and unwrapped again – and savoured…” 

He felt second-hand panic arising, his breath speeding up with Waylon’s, bile rising in his throat, the buzzing in his head almost deafening. Something dripped down his lip, onto his jeans, and he wiped it away with his hand, looking down to see blood smeared across it. 

“I’ve been a little… vulgar, I know, and I wanted to say I’m sorry. Just… you know how a man gets when he wants to know a woman. But after the ceremony, after I’ve made an honest woman of you, I promise I’ll be a different man.” 

Miles knew Eddie had ideations and fantasies, but he didn’t know it was _this_ extreme. Eddie didn’t just want Waylon to be his bride, he was convinced he was a woman. 

“I want a family, a legacy. To be the father I never had. I’ll never let anything happen to our children. Not like…” he trailed off, alluding to what happened to him as a kid. Waylon had explained what he read on his file, all that Eddie had been through, but again the Walrider snapped at him for feeling bad, for any sliver of sympathy he felt. “You’ll have to wait here. I know you must be just as eager as I am to consummate our love, but try to enjoy the anticipation.” 

Immediately Miles’ mind slipped back to last night on the couch, when him and Waylon had confessed to each other. When he lifted his shirt and touched his stomach… the look on his face. It was apparent Waylon felt guilty about Lisa, but there was something more there. Maybe he was thinking about Eddie too. 

“Here, darling, this will help you relax.” A mist covered the screen and the camera slowly fell away to his side, Waylon slumping to the back of the locker. It must have made Waylon pass out. His nose was bleeding a bit more now, but he wiped it away. Both him and the Walrider knew what had happened, and they were more than a little pissed. 

Though the screen was obscured, there was many minutes of struggling, somebody screaming, followed by Eddie either laughing, cooing, or yelling – and holy shit is that a fucking _table saw?_ This continued for about an hour until the cameras power-save feature turned the screen off automatically. He skipped a bit, not feeling the need to hear the horrific sounds and work the Walrider up more than it already was, until between pauses he hear what sounded like Waylon panicking, and Eddies voice up close to the camera. 

“-pleasant, I know, but just try to… endure. For my sake. For the sake of our children.” This must have been when Waylon was finally awake, “It won’t take long. A few snips of the flesh here, and here. Cut away everything… vulgar.” 

_”Protect the Whistleblower!”_

“A soft place to welcome my seed. To grow our family.” 

_”Stop him!”_ Miles was on the verge of tears, hastily wiping the blood from his upper lip. This was absolutely fucking disgusting, and even though he couldn’t see what was happening and the Walrider wouldn’t let him be vulnerable enough for a panic attack, he was fuming and it was overwhelming his senses; it only got worse when the saw started up again. 

“The incision will hurt,” 

_”Save him!”_

“And the conception,”

_”Protect the Whistleblower!”_

“And birthing is never easy,” 

Miles keeled over and began dry heaving into his hands, dripping blood onto the floor.

“I’ll make the cut fast. Just close your eyes and think of our children.” 

_”Stay the fuck away from him!”_

That did it for Miles. His nose was bleeding profusely, head buzzing like it was filled with a swarm of wasps. He yanked all of the cables from the TV, falling back against the couch so he could bury his face in his hands and sob, sniffling and wiping the tears and blood smeared to his face like it would in turn wipe away the panic. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t explain how he was feeling; rage, sadness, disgust, all of them didn’t cut it. Waylon experienced it first hand and continued on, he kept surviving, yet Miles listened to it and was a blubbering mess, it was revolting. He was weak. He couldn’t believe he had the audacity to even suggest Waylon watch the tape again. 

Eventually his tears stopped, and he had the sense to clean up, compose himself, and beg Waylon for forgiveness if he was still awake. If he was sleeping, maybe he could slip into bed, quietly get under the covers and huddle up next to his boys.

His reflection in the mirror almost startled him. Despite calming down a bit, the blood drying on the lower half of his face was still an alarming sight, and the veins in his neck and shoulders were dark and pronounced, as well as under his eyes and on his temples. The brunette thought he might never get used to this look, as often as it was happening these days, but it had not been this bad since the very beginning when it was healing him, when it was the only thing keeping him alive. At times like this, Miles thought maybe it still was. When he began cleaning it up, he was startled again by the realization of what the Walrider had said earlier. 

_”Stay the fuck away from him!”_

It had never cursed before. It wasn’t like it was talking exactly, but it was always there, prodding at the back of his mind. It only said simple things before, a few words here and there to remind him of its presence, or to warn him of oncoming danger. Mostly it talked about Waylon and Blake, keeping them safe and protected, more so than usual lately. It was becoming increasingly apparent that his hunch about the Walrider adapting and learning from its host was correct. It knew he loved them, it was feeding off of that.

By the time he cleaned up, brushed his teeth, and used the toilet, the bedroom was completely dark, but Miles could make out the shape of both men on the bed. Blake wasn’t spread out taking up as much room as possible like usual. He was on his side away from the door, Waylon’s head tucked into his chest and under his chin. He got closer, and with the help of the moonlight streaming through the window he could see their faces a little clearer. Waylon was long gone, dead asleep, but there were tear tracks on his face and a soft frown that was yet to disappear, but still he looked peaceful. It almost made him reconsider getting into their bed, but it was too tempting. He needed to be close right now, needed to know they were still there. He shed his jeans, slowly slipping under the sheets as quiet as possible, wincing at every groan and creak of the mattress beneath him, the frame straining under the weight of three bodies. 

Blake’s back was in front of his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only his favourite pair of frayed, worn sweats, so Miles was left with the bare expanse of his back. Involuntarily he reached out, tracing his fingers from the beauty marks to the fading cuts and scars that riddle his back. 

When the older man stirred his hand snapped back, tucking under the blankets and holding his breath in an attempt to convince the man back to sleep, but to no avail. 

“Miles?” he whispered, turning to face him, “What time is it?” 

“It’s… just after two I think.” 

“Fuck,” Blake groaned, blinking like he was taking in his face, “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s so fucked, Blake…” he whispered, “You have no idea…” 

Apparently he wasn’t all cried out, just the thought alone had moisture springing back to his eyes and soon he was sobbing again. The raven haired man didn’t question it, he knew exactly what he meant, so he gently adjusted himself and pulled the brunette closer, muffling the sounds of his cries in his chest and shushing him quietly, trying not to wake or startle Waylon sleeping just centimetres away. 

“He’s not there anymore, he’s safe now, you’re both safe now.”

“I-I know but he’s so… ugh, fuck-“ he clutched the larger man a bit tighter, “It’s worse than I thought, I shouldn’t have pushed like that.” 

“You didn’t know, maybe it’s best you do know now. You won’t push any more.” The older man brought a hand up to sooth back his hair, “We stayed up and talked it out, he understands, I understand,” Blake punctuated his reassurance with a kiss to the man’s forehead, “We’re not alone anymore, you’re not alone.” 

“I love you…” Miles whispered, “I love you both so fucking much, but I-I don’t know if I can handle this any more-” 

“We’re here, you’re not alone,” Blake repeated, “We’re all safe now, things will get better. They have to-“ he pulled away to look at Miles’ face, “Let somebody take care of you for once, for fucks sake.” 

Miles sniffed quietly and nodded, leaning back in to tuck himself in Blake’s chest. He used his smell, the same smell that coated the couch he slept on all throughout his university years, and his warmth to ground himself. He really wasn’t in mount massive, he was in familiar arms, in the middle of nowhere, hidden away from prying eyes. Everybody he cared about was safe, he was safe, and nothing could get in the way of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this self-indulgent garbage fic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birds are long gone, it’s unsettlingly quiet, but Waylon is wrapped up in Miles’ sweater and jacket, and Miles is wearing two shirts and Blake’s old university hoodie, and Blake is just suffering in nothing but baggie sweats and a couple thick flannels because he always complains about how hot he runs and if he started complaining now about how _cold_ he was, well, he would never hear the end of it, and it wouldn’t get his sweater back. 
> 
> “You ever feel like…” Waylon starts, “Like time is standing still for us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY. 
> 
> I've been dealing with some serious mental health issues and have been trying to force myself to get down this fic while I'm having a good day, but the good days are few and far between, my friends. Nevertheless, here's chapter 8 of 10! Let me know what you think!

“Waylon! Waylon, I’m sorry,” he called after him, “He should have listened, we should have just skipped it-“ 

“No,” the blond dropped onto the bed, hiding his face in his palms, “I understand why he wants to show some of it it’s… selfish of me to get upset like that.” 

“Fuck- No, Waylon,” the younger man shut the door gently behind him before joining the eldest on the bed, “That’s not selfish. I don’t know what happened, or who this Eddie guy is but I know there are some things on my tapes I’d rather my family not see, I’d rather you two not see.” 

“Eddie was… deranged, long before he came to mount massive,” the man spoke as he rubbed his eyes, “When I was working as a tech they were testing everybody’s compatibility with the nanobots… He saw me. Got free of the guards, ran right up to the protective glass as I booted up the system. They pulled him off, I heard him screaming about rape and… just seemed like nonsense at the time.” 

Blake flinched at the words, the memories, but let him continue at his own pace, never pushing between the breaks in his speech. He wanted to explain, he was willing to explain, that was more than he could say. 

“When the patients weren’t compatible with it, the machine would either kill them or mutilate them, and the engine took away any last fraction of humanity they had left. Eddie had been raped by his uncle and father as a child, he had this strange fantasy about the perfect life, the life he never had, with a wife and kids – but there were no women at the asylum, there hadn’t been for years, t-the engine created false pregnancies and there were complications, they were moved to a different facility. He was taking men and- god…” 

“You feel guilty about working for them.” 

“Yeah but I’m letting these tapes go because I want people to see what Murkoff’s done, not just to me but to these patients as well. Eddie was tortured and exploited and it brought him past the point of no return. Sometimes I saw those patients and they were just… normal. Not crazy, just scared, like I was.” He turned finally to look at Blake’s face, “Sometimes I feel like it was all my fault.” 

Blake immediately shut him down, wrapping his arms around his smaller frame and pulling them together, “If it wasn’t you it was somebody else, it just sucks it had to have been you.” 

“I-I was the one who sent the email out,” the blond clutched at Blake’s shirt, “I deserve it, I-I’m the reason Miles is-“ 

“You’re also the reason Miles is alive,” Blake snapped, “If you hadn’t sent the email that little fucker would have found out anyway, he’s got a knack for trouble. You’re also the reason Murkoff’s going to pay for everything they’ve done,” He put a hand under Waylon’s chin, making him look up into his eyes. “We’re all fucked but I’m glad we can be fucked together.” 

Waylon reached up, touching their lips together ever so slightly. Blake didn’t realize it was coming but he didn’t startle, keeping his composure even as the older man reached up and touched his face, carding a hand in his hair and thumb rubbing his cheekbone. The blond pulled away, losing his confidence the moment their lips parted. 

“I had everything Eddie wanted,” he whispered, “I don’t think I could have it ever again.” 

Blake pulled him in again, letting him weep into his shoulder until he didn’t seem like he could keep crying anymore. He managed to get Waylon into the bed, pulling off his jeans and his own tear-soaked shirt before turning off the lights and getting under the comforter, closing himself around the smaller man. The crying must have tired him out, he was asleep within minutes, but Blake couldn’t quite get there, thoughts racing with his heart in tow. 

Why was this happening to them? What did any of it mean? He had absolutely no clue, but these confusing times were almost welcome distractions, giving him barely any time to dwell on his mental state. He knew he was delaying the inevitable, but he knew when the inevitable came he would have two others to lean on.

Suddenly the door opened with a creak, interrupting his thoughts, and Miles shut it gently behind him. 

~~~

Things are freezing, much too cold to do laundry outside. Miles knows that soon they’ll have to make the trip into town and head to the laundromat by the highway, because they’re running low on supplies already, but Waylon’s been wearing his sweater for weeks, almost months, and he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t fit him even if he soaked it in fabric softener, it’s shaped like Waylon now. 

They’re outside, delaying the inevitable. There’s a creek a few yards from the cabin, and despite the frosty, biting air it’s sometimes just nice to hang out by it. The birds are long gone, it’s unsettlingly quiet, but Waylon is wrapped up in Miles’ sweater and jacket, and Miles is wearing two shirts and Blake’s old university hoodie, and Blake is just suffering in nothing but baggie sweats and a couple thick flannels because he always complains about how hot he runs and if he started complaining now about how _cold_ he was, well, he would never hear the end of it, and it wouldn’t get his sweater back. 

“You ever feel like…” Waylon starts, “Like time is standing still for us?” 

Miles looks amused but tries to fight the smirk creeping onto his face, “What do you mean?” 

“I mean – “ he huffs and a cloud billows in front of his face, “I know the outside world is still happening, things are still going on, I know L-Lisa’s probably taken the boys to the Christmas festival… the news is still on and… forget it-“ 

“No,” Blake reaches over to Waylon, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and pulls the smaller man into him, “I know exactly what you mean. Everything still feels like a bad dream.” 

Miles stands a foot or so away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. The ember is one of the last colourful things in the setting around them, apart from their clothing. The trees have lost their leaves, the green grass has been dying for weeks now and is an off sludgy brown shade, and the banks of the creek are turning into frosty patches of mud and slush. Everything feels muted, even the sky is a pale grey, and Blake and Waylon are both paling every day. Maybe Miles would be too if his normally tan skin hadn’t taken a slight ghostly tinge to it that didn’t quite dissipate even when he slipped into a hot bath or caught the other men midway through changing. Muted was not a synonym for ugly though, and he tried to tell himself that as often as he thought about his appearance and the world outside. 

Despite these feelings Waylon and Blake both seemed as optimistic as the situation allowed. Right now they were huddled up, one of Waylon’s hands sneaking under the thick, lined flannels and making the younger man yelp when his freezing hands met his searing back. Waylon chuckled and buried his flushed face into Blake’s chest, probably regretting shaving for once in his life. The bigger man laughs too, and he doesn’t make another comment as Waylon’s other hand slips under as well, just cradles him closer with a grin like the sun was out and they weren’t freezing their asses off. 

“I don’t know,” shrugs Miles, “Could be worse.” 

~~~

Blake has decided that he does not care to watch the tapes. After what happened with Waylon, he knows he will do the same. He can’t handle it, can’t experience that again. Blake is a trauma survivor, before Temple Gate and after, and he knows that exposure therapy is a bullshit placebo that doesn’t work on people like him.

Blake also wishes he had realized this sooner, because right now he is on the couch, and Waylon is fixing the wires that Miles had ripped out of the TV the few days prior in a fit of rage while playing Kid Icarus, and Miles is shuffling around in the kitchen making coffee and giving himself a pep-talk under his breath, and Blake is _not_ ready at all whatsoever. 

He must shift uneasily, and obviously, because Way’s eyes shoot up to his face and he cocks an eyebrow, “Alright?” 

“N-No…” his throat tightens, “I-I think – I think I’m gonna-“ 

Maybe it’s because his vision is blurring and fading around his peripherals, but he is startled when Waylon is up at his side suddenly. 

“Just breath, Blake, just breath. Can I touch you?” 

Blake doesn’t reply, but it’s not exactly a no, so Waylon presses a hesitant hand to his shoulder. He’s careful not to get in the man’s space, or make him feel crowded, but he’s starting to cry and hyperventilate, and he can’t exactly just stand there and do nothing. He calls for Miles, who comes rushing in. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“He’s having a panic attack! I don’t know what’s wrong!” 

Oh hey, Miles is here now, and he’s cradling Blake’s head in both hands, looking directly into his eyes. He’s speaking, but nothing is coming out, no sound is making it to his ears. He doesn’t know what’s happening but one of the last things he heard was Waylon say ‘panic attack’ so maybe it was that. 

Suddenly there is air being forced into his lungs, and it feels like a punch in the chest but both Miles and Waylon are just staring down at him so he doesn’t quite know what’s going on until he sees Miles dip down and kiss him again.

And he kisses back. And keeps kissing back. And suddenly Miles is chuckling worriedly and pushing him back onto the sofa. 

“Okay,” he turns to Waylon, “So it doesn’t just work on me.” 

“Don’t make me watch them,” he begs, and the look in his eye gives everything away to Miles. They’ve had this discussion before, Miles explained to Waylon what Blake had told him that night on the porch, about Jessica, and Father Loutermilch, and how those feelings and memories tied in with Lynn and Temple Gate. He doesn’t blame him. 

“You don’t have to,” Miles reassures him, “Blake, of course you don’t have to-“ 

“But I can’t,” he grips his hair so tight Waylon fears he might rip it out, “I-I have to, we have to know what’s in it-“ 

“Waylon,” Miles turns to the smaller man, “Draw him a bath, please.” It’s not a request, they both know. Waylon suddenly disappears and Blake can hear the bath starting in the other room. “I’ll watch it, you don’t have to-“ 

“No!” Blake is yelling, “You’re not- You’ve already watched Waylon’s, you can’t just-“ 

“Blake,” snaps the brunet, “Get your shit together. I’m watching the tapes, I’ve volunteered to watch them, deal with it.” 

He can’t deal with Blake the same way he deals with Waylon. Blake is stubborn, not lazy but apathetic, he needed to be told how it is and he couldn’t be coddled into submission. Miles knew he would be mad, but he wouldn’t fight it. He needed less stimulation, more distractions. 

“Fuck –“ Miles kissed him again and he kissed back, “Fuck you!” Blake exclaimed, while he buried his head in Miles’ chest. 

“I know.” 

“Fuck this place!” 

“I know, Blake.” 

“Why…” he sobbed, “Why us?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Waylon came back, a concerned look painted across his freckled face. Miles hoisted Blake off the couch, struggling to support the larger man as they made their way to the bathroom. Miles made him sit on the toilet lid, and turned to face Waylon. 

“I’m going to watch them.”

Blake looked up through glossy, blood-shot eyes, but didn’t detest. 

“I need you to take care of him.” 

_’I don’t need to be taken care of,’_ was the first thought that came to his mind. 

“Take it slow. Cool him off. He’ll be mad at me.” 

_’I’m not mad at you, dick!’_ Blake gripped his pant leg a little too tightly. 

Waylon nodded, reaching up on his toes so he could kiss Miles with a pat on the shoulder. He slipped past the larger man, closing the door behind him, and kneeled in front of Blake. 

“Blake,” he reached out to brush Blake’s bangs back, “I know how you’re feeling, believe me I do, but we need to watch the tapes, we need to figure out whether you were hallucinating or not.” 

Blake nods once. 

“Miles and I don’t want to do this either,” he speaks quietly but loud enough to be heard over the filling tub, “and we don’t mean to make you feel like this, but we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

He nods again.

“And listen, I believe you,” he wraps his fingers in Blake’s overgrown black tresses and pulls him forward so their foreheads are resting together, “But before this goes public, we need to get our stories straight.” 

“I know,” he says finally, voice hoarse and chest heaving, but it’s something. 

“Good,” Waylon kisses his forehead and reaches for his hips, “Can I take your shirt off? Unless, you’d rather bathe in it.” 

Blake doesn’t appreciate the joke, but he’ll give Way points for trying. He nods Waylon goes to work undoing the buttons on his flannel. It’s strangely intimate, the all encompassing sounds of blood in his ears and the water running filling the room, but his mind wanders to Miles outside and what he is watching right now. 

“Hey,” Waylon snaps his attention back, “Arms out.” 

Blake does this, and Waylon takes the opportunity to slip the sleeves of his flannel over his hands. Blake still wears his wedding ring, which is strange, but not to them. They haven’t let go. They’re both still loyal, they tell themselves. This brings them closer, Blake feels. Maybe if Waylon still had his ring, he would be wearing it too.

Waylon slowly sheds him of his shirt, his foggy glasses, then his woollen socks, then his pants. He hesitates (for more reason than modesty) to move further, so as Blake is about to slip into the bath he carefully pulls of his boxers himself, and throws them to the floor. 

Waylon’s face flushes but does not change it’s neutral gaze, “I’ll just-“ 

“No,” Blake reaches out to him, “Come on.” 

Waylon doesn’t hesitate this time. He pulls of Miles’ hoodie, he slips off his jeans, and his socks, and his underwear, and he doesn’t hesitate when Blake shifts forward to slip in behind him. This might seem comical to some, tiny Waylon cradling Blake in his arms like their sizes were reversed, but that’s what he needs right now, and Waylon isn’t complaining. 

When Blake relaxes down, settling against Waylon’s chest, his knees stick out of the water. He is much too tall for this bathtub, and when they go to their next location, Waylon hopes it’s not quite as small as their lovely old cabin. Their next location. Together. Him and Miles and Blake. Not him and Lisa. 

Then the thought hits him, and the light hits his ring, and the whole situation just punches him right in the face, and the heart, and he’s gripping Blake’s arm. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I love you.” 

Blake sits up a bit and turns to look at Waylon. 

“I love you and Miles, and I’m sorry.” 

Waylon can’t help but feel his heart clench as the ravenet’s shoulders tense. 

“To whom?” 

“You. Him. Lisa.” _’Lynn’_ goes unsaid. 

“I’m not,” Blake shifts, water sloshing over the edge of the tub, pressing their mouths together in a searing kiss. Blake doesn’t taste like an ashtray, or alcohol, or everything that makes up Miles Upshur, he tastes like sour candy and the pop they had with their dinner. They both have that smell of musk, and they both are hard in places where Lisa was soft, and they make his heart do that thing that it used to do when him and Lisa were on dates and she would look at him with _that_ face, and he should _really_ not be thinking about Lisa right now but- 

“I lost you,” Blake whispers, “Where’d you go?” 

Waylon smirks through hooded eyes, “The past, but I’m here now.” Slipping his fingers into Blake’s hair, he guides the man’s lips to his own, caressing his chapped bottom lip with his tongue. It pulls a moan from Blake, who can’t help but grip Waylon’s hips and pull them closer in the small tub. 

Blake feels Waylon’s cock twitch against his thigh and he pauses, causing Waylon to panic and struggle momentarily. 

“Sorry!” he stammers, “I’m sorry, Blake, I’m so inconsiderate, I-“ 

Blake shuts him up with another kiss, “It’s alright,” he grins, “But I don’t think the tub will do.” 

The younger man takes Waylon up against the wall, pushing the blond against the white, steamy tiles. His back arches when it hits the cold grout and granite, but Blake pins his hips there as he kisses down his chest, stomach, to the thin blond trail of hair leading to his groin before he nips at the man’s hips. 

“Just tell me,” pants Blake on his knees, “to stop.” 

The blond doesn’t think this will be implemented, because as soon as Blake continues his musings, licking a long strip up his enflamed cock, he’s lost to him. He’s letting go. He can see it in his mind; the ring in the patient locker back at Mount Massive is hitting the floor along with all his past morals and assumptions about himself. For years he had been the good husband, giving Lisa what she needed, leading the role of caretaker and man of the house, but having Blake and Miles treat him like this was the last straw in a waning supply. 

“Oh god, Blake,” he threads his fingers through soft black hair, “Fuck-“ 

Blake moans around him and it’s absolutely jarring, vibrations reaching his spine. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that Miles is not the only one in this house with this kind of experience, it makes Waylon feel a little bare. 

He doesn’t have long to think about it, because Blake is relaxing his throat and letting Waylon in even further, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around him like a pro. He knows he won’t last long, and he sure hopes Blake has no intentions for other things with Waylon, because he’s thirty-six years old and he doesn’t know if he has been this painfully hard in years, or if it will ever happen again. 

Pale hands pull, squeeze, and try to push Blake away as he nears his finish, but the larger man won’t budge, and practically slams Waylon’s hips back onto the tile behind him as he comes down his throat. He’s panting, huffing hard as he looks down to see Blake pulling off him, and fucking swallowing with barely a few drops dripping down his chin. If it weren’t for his swollen lips and rosy cheeks you would never know, and that just did something to Waylon. 

He pulled him up, closing the distance between them. Blake had to duck, both hands on the tile beside his head, dripping water onto the floor, and filling Waylon’s mouth with the taste of his own release, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. 

“You want me to-“ he motioned to Blake, “I’ve never, but I could-“ 

“No,” Waylon’s heart sunk, “No! No, Waylon, don’t worry, I just-“ he kissed the corner of the man’s mouth. “Sex is just… tough for me sometimes, especially men.” 

The blond nodded, and he tried to return a smile that wouldn’t be taken as pitiful or sad, but failed miserably. 

“Come on,” Blake stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, “The water’s freezing.” 

They dried each other off as Waylon tried not to acknowledge Blake’s half-hard erection with a sympathetic gaze. It was tough, but understandable, so Waylon just hoped he hadn’t pushed too far. After all, it was Blake who had initiated things. 

When they left Miles was already in bed. Weird, but he had said he expected Blake to be angry, so he must have watched a bit of the tapes then went to bed to avoid the awkwardness or reprimanding.

“Hey,” Blake whispered softly, but Miles pretended to be asleep, “I know you’re awake.” 

The brunet rolled over in the darkness, looking up at Blake as he sat on the other edge of the bed. 

“I’m not mad,” he reassured him, “I’m not, really, but you know how I feel about you doing this to yourself.” 

Miles leaned up to turn on the bedside table lamp. There was some dry blood under his nose and his under eye circles were much worse than before. 

“Shit, Miles-“ 

“It’s nothing,” he rubbed at his lip, “It’s fine, but I have to do this. If I’m the only one that can handle it, then that’s just the way it’s gotta be.” He shifted a bit closer, “And if you’ve gotta be the one to babysit me, well that sucks for you.” 

Blake chuckled and pulled Miles in for a kiss, glad he had brushed his teeth before exiting the washroom. Not that Miles would probably mind, it was more for his sake. 

Waylon suddenly walked in, sans shirt and pants. Blake probably got water all over them with all his moving and fussing, but Waylon just picked a sweater off the ground and pulled it on, moving towards the bed without a word. 

“You guys fucked.” 

Waylon hovered over them, glared at Miles, then at Blake, blush blooming across his cheeks. 

“That’s not a no,” Miles’ grin grew, and he pumped a fist in the air, “Fuck yeah! Good going, Blake-“ 

Equally unamused, Blake shot him an exasperated look, wrapped his arms around Waylon and turned to the other side of the bed to face away. Miles groaned, but his smile didn’t falter, not even when he noticed the thin gold band around Blake’s left ring finger sitting on the bedside table beside Blake's glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that this fic is barely canon, just a lot of head canon and also me being self-indulgent and grasping at representation, thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did it mean anything to you?” 
> 
> Her face was neutral but the look in her eye and her incessant tapping gave away how truly pissed she was. Blake paused for a second, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his mug as he let a few words pass through his mind, running over them to get how they would feel coming out of his mouth. Everything sounded too rehearsed, too insensitive, and that is not what Lynn deserved. 
> 
> “I-“ he swallowed thickly, “I’m not going to say that it meant nothing,” her knuckles turned white on her mug, “But I-I wanted to know if it was… if it was you, or me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say about this chapter is that I've changed the rating from M to E, so that's a clear indicator that if you're uncomfortable with sexually explicit situations you should probably proceed with caution. 
> 
> Also, I've decided that there will be 10 chapters, and I'll do an epilogue, so expect that probably.

Miles and Waylon are so considerate. 

It took Blake three months to work up to sex with Lynn after they had their first date. She never understood why he wasn’t ‘like other guys’, why he wasn’t all over her all the time. It got better, he got better, more comfortable, but the memories of a scourged childhood were present at all times, even if they weren’t as strong as before. After the wedding things became a little easier, the honeymoon stage was filled with dropping everything, taking Lynn over the counter of their new home as pancakes cooked on the griddle they got as a wedding present from her aunt, rolling around on their new living room floor, covering the plastic linings with dark red paint, as well as their clothes. Blake would give anything to go back to a time before the nightmares started again, and before he relapsed into something much worse than therapy had prepared him for. 

Maybe that was the start of the inevitable decline. “Why don’t you look at me the same way anymore?” Lynn would yell, “Do you not love me?” but of course Blake loved her. He loved Lynn more than anything in the world, but love doesn’t fix things that are soaked in fear and loathing and filth, so all he can do is suck it up and act like he is into it just to please her, even though his mind is somewhere else completely. 

It’s been eight months since Blake last had sex with Lynn, but it has not been eight months since he has last had sex. It was one time, at a bar in downtown Houston, a shady place where he knew he would not run into anybody he knew. The guy walked up to him, bought him a drink, gave him a name to a face, but Blake couldn’t remember now if you asked him. Handsome, a little shorter than Blake, with red hair and big hands with callouses like he had a working job. 

His first mistake was thinking maybe his problems had more to do with attraction than trauma. Repeating the mantra in his head of loving Lynn had cemented that notion in his brain, and he had been running over it for weeks. Maybe all this time he had actually just been gay, he knew quite a few people who had caught his eye over the years, and that was the trouble with Lynn currently. 

So he went back to this man’s house, and he took him so gently that Blake wept, and fought back to push him off, but he never said no and he didn’t know if it was rude to suddenly stop, so he let the man do as he pleased and afterwards he cried harder and told the redhead that he just hadn’t done anything for a while and was feeling overly sensitive. 

Lynn knew. Of course, Lynn knew, she could smell it on him the moment he walked through the door. He smelt like booze, and sex, and another person’s fragrance. Crossing the threshold into their bedroom, he saw her lying across, facing away, and by the way her body moved she was obviously crying. He couldn’t face her, he wouldn’t, so he walked back downstairs and took the couch. 

In the morning she had bacon and eggs ready for him, as well as French press coffee. He didn’t feel like eating, didn’t think he deserved it, but she just kept telling him to do it, to get it over with, because she wanted to talk. 

“Did it mean anything to you?” 

Her face was neutral but the look in her eye and her incessant tapping gave away how truly pissed she was. Blake paused for a second, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his mug as he let a few words pass through his mind, running over them to get how they would feel coming out of his mouth. Everything sounded too rehearsed, too insensitive, and that is not what Lynn deserved. 

“I-“ he swallowed thickly, “I’m not going to say that it meant nothing,” her knuckles turned white on her mug, “But I-I wanted to know if it was… if it was you, or me.” 

She nodded, staring down at the untouched food in front of her. At least Blake was being honest, she could tell, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to get angry, throw her coffee in his face, destroy the entire house, but Lynn wasn’t that kind of person. It almost would have been better if she was. 

“Did she look like me?” 

Blake’s heart clenched in his chest, and his stomach flipped, and he almost threw up right there and then. 

“No, he didn’t.” 

The look on her face was indescribable. Blake had never seen anything like it. He never wanted to see it again. 

“I can’t tell if it’s better or worse,” she spat through gritted teeth, “that it was a man.” 

“I know I deserve whatever I get, I know it was uncalled for-“ 

“Uh, yeah, you think? I think this whole situation is more than a little uncalled for!” her voice was raising so much that Blake thought the neighbours might complain.

“Lynn!” he barked back, “Listen to me! I know what I did was fucked, but I needed to know - I needed to know if there was something wrong with me and _how the fuck do I even start that conversation with you?”_

A look of hurt crossed her face when she realized what was wrong. She remembered Jessica, the rumours and the truths. She remembers how skittish Blake would get when they were teenagers and she would rest a hand on the inside of his thigh, or how he would panic on field trips, even froze up for an entire day when a friend of theirs from school told them Loutermilch had been released on probation.

“And…” a tear dripped down her paling face, “What conclusion did you come to?” He shook his head, she sniffed, nodded, and ran a hand through her sandy blonde bangs. “Eat your breakfast.” 

Things weren’t the same after that, and things weren’t the same now, but Miles and Waylon were so considerate. The morning after Miles watched the tapes, Blake was the last one awake, which was strange. There was no blond in his arms and no brunet wrapped around his back, so he stood up slowly and blinked the sleep from his eyes before he made his way into the kitchen. 

The table was set, Miles was sitting by the far window with a cigarette in his hand that still had an index finger. Waylon, somehow, must not have noticed yet. There was a savoury smell in the air, and he could hear the crackle of grease in a pan, and his stomach was growling, and that made it all the more enticing. 

The youngest saw him first, quickly dunking his cigarette in what appeared to be his coffee and throwing the butt out the window before exclaiming; 

“Morning, Blake!” 

Ah yes, he is in a good mood. Blake needed that. He moved to the room, around the counter and caught sight of Waylon facing away from him, standing over the stove. He walked over, kissed the side of his head, which earned him a _good morning_ from the blond as well, then sat down with Miles. 

“Listen, I know you’re probably tired as hell, but I need to tell you some stuff.” 

Blake nodded but didn’t respond, pouring a bit of sugar into his coffee.

“I went through the tapes…” he paused, waiting for Blake to interject, “Most of it’s… just static, the rest is just some sort of Rob Zombie, Jonestown type shit, but Blake… a lot of it is you rambling.” 

“What did I say?” 

“You don’t remember?” 

Waylon came over then, putting plates of breakfast scramble in front of them before he sat himself down between the two. Blake pushed it around a bit, trying to remember without remembering all of it, but it was a dangerous game. 

“Hey,” the youngest reached across the table, covering his hand with his own and rubbing a thumb across calloused knuckles, “Don’t worry, okay? It’s not a big deal.” 

“I remember blacking out a lot. The bodies, the people, the gospel. I remember the mines, finding Lynn, carrying her away. I remember…” he rubbed his thumb over the scars in his palm, “Laird, Nick, the apostles. I don’t remember exactly what I filmed, I just filmed whatever seemed important at the time. I hope I didn’t-“ 

“You didn’t,” Miles shook his head before he could continue, “That’s not on there.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief, tension dripping from his shoulders like a weight was pulled from them. 

“But Blake you haven’t… blacked out at all recently, have you? I haven’t noticed, have you, Way?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“No,” Blake’s brow knit together, “Did I really do it that much?” 

“Blake,” Miles leaned forward, “About fifty percent of this tape is you staring at the ground and rambling about… y’know.” 

That was news for sure. He stared down at the scramble, tears welling in his eyes, and trying to steady his breathing. 

“Did… was she real?” 

Miles frowned, shook his head, and Blake collapsed into his hands. Miles was up and over the chair in seconds, pulling the larger man against him and letting him sob into his chest. Waylon just watched, knowing Blake was feeling unimaginable amounts of horror and uncertainty. His whole life was being torn apart from those few hours, maybe days, everything he had known, and sadly that was familiar to all three of them. 

“Blake,” Miles whispered into his hair, “Blakey, it’s alright. I know it’s tough, but you’re fine now. We’re all fine-“ 

“Lynn’s not! Waylon’s not – you’re not – I’m not, so cut the bullshit!” Blake pushed him away, “If everything is so fine, why the fuck did the Walrider take over last night?” 

This was the first time Blake had ever used the name of the thing inside Miles, and it had all three of them reeling. Waylon gripped Miles’ arm, turning to look in his eyes. 

“Miles, is that true?” 

“The static on the tapes was… the Engine. The radio towers on the peak? That was Murkoff.” 

“I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep living knowing everything I see might be fake- It’s driving me insane! I’m already insane-“ 

“You’re not insane!” Miles snapped, “Blake, you’re not! The Engine, it fucks with your head. Maybe at Temple Gate you were, but not anymore.” He grabbed Blake’s face, “Look at me, Blakey. I’m Miles Upshur, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“The best reporter in the entire world.” 

“I wouldn’t-“ 

“Blake.” 

The older man sighed, “The best freelance reporter in the entire world.” 

“I’ll take it,” Miles smirked, “And this is Waylon Park,” he turned Blake’s head, “Who makes the tastiest goddamn mac and cheese you’ve ever had in your life, and finished Majora’s Mask overnight when it was first released,” both Blake and Waylon chuckled, “and we’re both here, we’re real, and you’re here too. You’re Blake Langermann, cameraman of the year, cinematic genius-“ Blake opened his mouth to interrupt, “No! I’m not done. You can play Stairway to Heaven on the drums and guitar, and you know every word to The Boondock Saints one and two even though you hate action flicks but you just can’t seem to stop watching them because, frankly, I think you’re in love with Norman Reedus.” 

Blake tried to pry his hands off, “Stop-“ 

“No, you listen up, fucker, because I know you, and I know that even though you may not feel like it right now, you’re the same Blake Langermann that almost beat the shit out of my scumbag boyfriend, and you’re the same Blake Langermann who let me raid his fridge even though him and his wife were struggling to get along themselves, and nothing will change that. We’re real, you’re real, I don’t want to hear this talk about not being able to go on again, okay?” 

Blake nodded, pulling off his glasses to avoid getting tears on them. Miles wiped them away with his thumbs, pulled the bigger man in for a kiss, and sat back down on his seat before digging into the food with a groan. 

“Fuck, Waylon, you’ve outdone yourself.” 

“As I usually do.” 

“You little shit-“ 

They began bickering back and forth, Miles chucking small chunks of egg and sausage across the table at Waylon whenever he got smart, and the smaller man laughed and complained, but he didn’t stop his antics. This would have been one of those times where Blake could immerse himself in the moment, forget about Murkoff and Knoth and The Walrider, and just imagine that this was his life by choice, which he supposed wouldn’t be too bad. 

Mid-sentence, Miles tried to take a sip from his mug, but his mouth was filled with bitter black coffee and cigarette ashes and he immediately made an _’I just fucked up’_ face, looking Blake straight in the eye because he _just knew_ the raven haired man had seen him dunk his smoke in, but he knew if he did anything then Waylon would know. 

So he swallowed it, 

and Blake knew this wasn’t so bad. 

~~~

“I guess we should probably call Jay soon.” 

They knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. They had just gotten back from a laundry and food run, and Miles had decided to run to the liquor store and grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s with their change from groceries instead of extra cigarettes, that should have been their first sign. All three of them were on the porch now, snug in their swing, bundled in each other’s clothes, which seemed to be how it goes these days. They had no set belongings, you just picked whatever was warmest, and it was usually somebody else’s. 

They were passing the whiskey back and forth. Waylon had never been big on drinking, but it felt nice, and it was something they were doing together, so he couldn’t complain. Already his cheeks were hot and rosy despite the biting wind. Miles kept making comments about him too, calling him a lightweight, but he just laughed in good fun. He knew it was also because he was practically sitting across both of their laps as well as the honey whiskey coursing through his veins, Blake’s eternally scolding body pressed up against his back. 

“Is he calling you again?” 

“No,” the youngest took a swig, “But he was, I’m sure he just knows I’ll get pissy and give him the same answer as last time, just waitin’ it out.” 

Waylon nodded, looking around at the quiet scene before them. Blake’s arms squeezed him momentarily, and he knew he felt the same way. What would happen to them after this was over? What would become of what they had made? 

“Where will we go after that?” Waylon reached for the nearly empty bottle, “I love it here, but I don’t think I can stand the cold any longer.”

Miles pursed his lips, nodded, and tightened his grip on Waylon’s thigh. “Juan’ll give us a place to stay, most likely. After the information gets out, Murkoff will be mad, but I don’t know if they’ll come after us. Kind of pointless, you know? The tapes are the real proof.” 

“The patients, too,” added Blake, “But it’s… you never know. We still might know something, they might just want us _disposed_ of,” he said it in a dramatic way, sort of like a James Bond villain. 

Waylon shook his head, “When I got out of hand they threw me in the asylum, they can try but they can’t put all three of us in handcuffs if we’ve done nothing wrong. The government will protect us.” 

“What if Murkoff is the government?” Waylon and Miles frowned and turned to Blake, “What?” 

“Too many conspiracy theories,” Way shook his head.

“No, I mean, this is obviously bigger than Temple Gate, bigger than Mount Massive, you said they had the fucking-“ he made a wild gesture with his hands, “fucking militia on their front fucking doorstep within a few hours, you know?” 

“No matter what,” Miles softened his gaze, “The Walrider won’t let them get to you.” 

Blake, despite being a big voice of reason in Miles’ life, looked kind of out of it. He was worried, frowning a bit with a furrowed brow. He rubbed the back of neck and ran his fingers through his overgrown coal coloured hair. Blake was so fit, and masculine, all vein, and stubble, and sinew, and he was exactly Miles’ type but he had never let himself look before, out of respect for Lynn.

“Wow, fuck, Miles, I feel so much more comfortable now.” 

“You’ve been drinking too much,” Waylon pulled the bottle from Blake’s grip and put it down on the porch, “You’re using fuck inappropriately.” 

“Every use of fuck is an appropriate one.” 

Waylon turned his head and stared up into those glossy emerald eyes. 

“You’re a fucking dork.” 

“That’s just _mean.”_

Blake pulled Waylon off the bench completely, pulling him onto his lap and squeezing him tight to his chest so the man couldn’t get away or breath, no matter how much he laughed, and struggled, and begged Miles for help, but the younger man just watched with a smug grin on his face as Waylon started throwing elbows in Blake’s direction to get him off until the man gave up, letting the blond slip from his lap and land on the porch with a thump.

“Ouch.” 

That was the final straw. _Jesus,_ was Waylon ever fucking cute, especially now that he was sort of tipsy and very relaxed. His face and neck were completely flushed and his hands were up the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing, because it was Blake’s and much too big, and his hair had grown since they first came to Oregon so his bangs were pretty much in his eyes, curling around his ears and cheeks, and he was so _fucking adorable_ that Miles just couldn’t take it anymore. 

So he stood, scooped Waylon up like a toddler over his shoulder, gripped one hand onto Blake’s jacket, and pulled them both inside the house. 

“Miles!” Waylon shouted through a laugh, “What the _hell_ are you doing?” 

“Nothing yet. C’mon, Blakey,” he gripped the older man and dragged him along into the bedroom, letting Waylon fall back onto the bed with a thud that knocked the wind out of him for a second. He stared at Miles accusingly, squinting, eyes boring into the man’s smug expression. 

“Are you even a little drunk?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Waylon would try not to read too much into that, but he didn’t really have time when Miles was practically pinning him to the bed with one strong hand to his shoulder, kissing him senseless. Waylon let him, wrapping an arm around the younger man’s neck and pulling them closer so he could pull Miles’ bottom lip into his mouth and nip it a bit, then pulled back. The brunet’s eyes slowly opened, reveal smoky eyes that shocked and excited Waylon at the same time. 

“Blake,” Waylon turned to him, taking in his face. He looked worried, sitting on the bed beside them, but Miles quickly pulled him in for a kiss, and he relaxed, sinking further onto the mattress and cupping Miles’ face in his hands. 

“Can we touch you tonight?” 

Blake paused, “M-maybe – maybe later.” 

Miles nodded, pulling him in for another slow, calculated kiss. “You gonna watch?” Blake looked a bit uncomfortable at the thought, “It’s fine, you’re fine. You tell us if you’re ready, or you ask us to stop, okay?” 

The tall man nodded, and with a quick peck, Miles turned back to Waylon. 

“How ‘bout you, are you alright?” He paused with his hands beside Waylon’s body, waiting for the go ahead. 

“Yeah,” he exhaled deeply, “Come here.” 

Miles dipped down and caught the smaller man’s lips again, gentle and languid, and using just enough tongue to draw out a small moan from the blond. He smirked, and he felt Waylon smile back, and the whiskey must have affected the man a bit more than he let on because he was running his hands down Miles’ sides and gripping tightly right above his ass, which was a little too bold for Waylon’s regular style this early.

The brunet let him pull his hips closer until they were flush, making Miles blush a little bit because he was already a little hard and that made him feel young as hell even though he had more experience in the gay department than these two. It was quickly forgotten when Waylon leaned up into him, grinding slow and even as they aligned themselves together, but it wasn’t enough. Waylon started tugging at the zipper of Miles’ jeans with one hand, but he wasn’t really getting anywhere so Miles sat up until he was sitting on Waylon’s legs. 

“You’re _eager,”_ he said, fumbling with his button, “I like that.” 

Waylon opened his mouth like he was going to comment, but Miles quickly shut him up with another hot kiss as he shimmied his jeans off and threw them to the floor, then did the same for Waylon. Soon their coats and shirts were gone too, and both men were exposed to the frosty cabin air, but they weren’t cold, the whiskey and atmosphere saw to that. 

Blake was utterly awestruck. At first he felt a bit awkward at the thought of watching these two have their way with each other, but now he was just so flustered and overwhelmed because it was the hottest thing he had ever seen in his entire life. It was almost like a porno, except Waylon’s little gasps of pleasure as Miles’ nipped at his neck and left marks across his pale, freckled skin sent shockwaves to Blake’s groin unlike anything he had ever felt. He was in the room, he could touch at any time, it felt different; it was different.

Miles licked and sucked at Waylon’s chest, huffing cool air onto them and making the smaller man arch into his touch with oversensitivity. He was humming too, or rather his body was, meaning the unsettling creature within him had awoken at the promise of pleasure from, and to, its two favourite people.

Suddenly Waylon was grabbing Miles’ shoulder and flipping him over, which was bold as ever, and had Blake sucking in a quick breath. The blond repeated what Miles had done, marking him across his pale neck, and chest, and hips, and breathing over his groin which had the younger man carding his fingers through his overgrown sandy mop in an attempt to stop himself from bucking into his face. 

“Sh-shit, Way,” gasped Miles, “Y-You don’t have to-“

He was interrupted by Waylon snapping the elastic waist of his underwear, and looking down he was met with a bit of a disgruntled look. 

“Shush,” Way protested, “Shut up, let me do this.” 

Waylon pulled his boxers completely off his legs and off before licking a long strip across the man’s thigh, earning him a low keen and more humming. Miles’ head fell back on the pillow behind him, letting out a deep groan as Waylon finally met his cock with his mouth, kissing the head. 

It couldn’t be that hard, could it? He had been on the receiving end of more than a few blowjobs in his time, he could probably remember what the other people were doing, even if the taste and texture was foreign. He swirled his tongue around the tip, and the noise Miles’ made indicated that it was the right move, so he went further, taking in bit by bit. He could tell that Miles was struggling to stay still, a sweat had broken out on his skin despite the cool air, and the fingers in his hair were tightening and releasing like he was holding back, and Waylon would have thanked him for being so considerate if he didn’t have his mouth full. 

Hollowing his cheeks and relaxing his throat, he slid down further, only sparing a glance at Blake quickly to see if he was uncomfortable, but he looked anything but. He was sitting on the bed as well, hands in his lap, palming his obviously uncomfortably hard erection. Jade eyes met azure, and Blake let out a low keening sound, which filled Waylon with a bout of newfound confidence. He pulled off, tongued the tip of Miles’ member before forcing himself back down. 

This was a bad idea, he gagged a bit, making Miles pull him off a bit through the moans, but Blake leaned in, wiping the spit from Waylon’s bottom lip and grabbing one of his hands, “Use your hands, it’s easier.” 

Waylon nodded, bringing his hand up and gripping Miles’ hard cock so he could keep it still and not force himself too far down. Blake was right, it was much easier, and Miles was cursing and droning and practically vibrating beneath him, lean muscle clenching and tensing, and suddenly his whole body went taught and he pulled Waylon off with a force that almost hurt. 

“S-stop, I was about to-“ he huffed loudly, pulling Waylon up by the shoulders so they could kiss, and he didn’t even seem to mind that his mouth was coated in spit and precum, he just kissed him rhythmically, languid, before he broke apart, letting Waylon’s forehead rest on his own. “Shit…” 

“What?” 

“No condoms.” 

Waylon sat back on his haunches, hovering over Miles.

“I’m clean,” he reassured him, “I don’t mind.” 

Miles leaned up on his elbows, “You sure?” 

He nodded, reaching over to the bedside table to grab a tube of lotion they had set aside a few days ago for the scars on Blake’s hands. They would be out of here soon enough, and Blake didn’t interject, so he pulled it out completely before sitting back. 

“How should… how do I – do you want me to-“ 

“Waylon,” chuckled Miles, “As much as your nervousness if really endearing, I am in pain-“ he motioned to his lower half, “You trust me, let me take care of you, okay?” 

He did trust him, that was true, but he couldn’t shake the nervousness he felt for what was about to happen. Sure, he had experimented with himself, but that was only a handful of times, and every finger made him feel guilty and disgusting, he had never gotten very far. 

Miles spread his own legs, making Waylon’s hips fall back and spread further over the younger man’s lap. He coated his fingers in the lotion, heating it up, before he pulled Waylon in for a kiss and readied his fingers at his entrance.

“You let me know, okay? Talk to me.” 

Waylon nodded, but there was still a look of worry in his eye, so he was just about to flip them over so he could put his mouth on Waylon as he opened him, but Blake was all of the sudden leaning in, and catching the blonde’s mouth with his own. 

Bless Blake and his sixth sense sometimes. 

He felt Waylon tense a bit as the lukewarm lotion touched him, but a few caresses from Blake had him melting again, and Miles brought a hand up to stroke him in time with his thrusts, which had Waylon relaxing onto it even more. It was weird, Miles’ fingers felt weird, but Blake tasted like whiskey, and his mouth was hot, and the room was cold, and his touch sent shivers down his spine to the point where he didn’t even feel Miles slip in a second finger. 

That is, until he curled them, which sent Waylon bucking up into the brunet’s hand and biting down on Blake’s lip a little too hard with a whimper. That’s why this was so good, that’s why people did it, and he understood now, all nervousness out the window with his inhibitions. 

That’s when Miles was suddenly struck with a problem. He did not have a ring finger on this hand, what the fuck was he supposed to do? Waylon was wriggling above him, huffing hot air into Blake’s mouth and almost fucking himself back on Miles’ fingers like the current friction wasn’t enough, and it was so hot. It was so hot, and Waylon let out a quiet growl, and suddenly Miles' head was soring, and the Walrider filled the room around them. 

Blake tensed and stopped his musing, turning to Miles with a concerned look, but Miles, with eyes black as coal, looked smug as ever except for the small frown tugging at his lips. 

_”S-sorry,”_ his voice was definitely Miles’ but a bit lower, shadowed by another, _”I can’t s-stop it-“_

“Don’t, please,” pleaded Waylon, “I can – fuck – I can feel it.” 

The haze filled his lungs, his head, made him feel light and airy. That’s not all, he was sure a tendril and found its way under him and joined Miles’ efforts, and that should gross him out, it should disgust him, but the Walrider is warm, and vibrating, and it’s form is soft, hard, solid, and liquid all at the same time, and he just can’t find it anything but absolutely exhilarating. 

Miles can apparently feel it too, because Waylon clamps down on him and he is gasping, hips digging deeper into the mattress as the Walrider focuses in on Waylon and making him feel good. It knows Blake is apprehensive, it knows Miles wants Blake to feel good, so he just surrounds him a protective cocoon of smoke until the man just accepts that it’s happening, and moves in to kiss the blond on his lap again. 

He doesn’t mean to manhandle Waylon, but he’s involuntarily gripping the wiry man’s hips and flipping them so Way is on his hands and knees, tearing him from Blake’s grip. The green-eyed man doesn’t budge, does not make a single move to stop him, because he trusts that Miles has control of the situation. 

And Miles does. Does he ever. All of his nerves are on fire, all his senses are turned up to an eleven, and his whole body feels like it’s quaking, but he is in full control of the situation, he finds. 

_”Waylon,”_ he coos, _”You ready, baby?”_

Waylon nods, biting his lip as Miles manoeuvres their hips into line, and presses in agonizingly slow. It hurts, but only for a few seconds. It’s more of a dull ache than anything, but it’s dizzying all the same, and when Miles finally bottoms out he lets out a loud breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

_”Good boy,”_ whispers Miles as he licks the shell of Waylon’s ear, which earns him a shudder. _”So good for me, Way, I’m gonna move now, okay?”_

“O-Okay-“ he lets out a shaky breath, and Miles pulls back just as agonizingly slow as before, then suddenly he’s pressing forward a little faster, and a little faster, then he builds a slow rhythm that Waylon starts to follow with his hips. 

He knows Walrider is assisting. There’s an extra grip on his sides that tingles more so than Miles’, feels like tiny electric shocks against his skin, and it’s cooler than Miles’, much too cool to be Blake. It’s just part of their life now, so he intends to get used to it. 

He can get used to this. Miles isn’t using him, it’s a tandem effort, and he feels more connected to these two than he has anybody in his entire life. There’s a louder hum in the air, much different from usual. It’s too gentle and relaxing to be compared to a swarm of bees, but it’s almost deafening because it’s coming from Miles, and the Walrider, who are both sealed against his glistening back like they’re conjoined at the hip, and it only gets louder with every sound that comes out of Waylon’s mouth as Miles wrecks him. 

Blake and Waylon are now completely sober, but the Walrider is intoxicating and dizzying all the same. Miles’ may not sound or look completely like himself right now, but the soft gentle coos coming from his filthy mouth sure as hell are, and it’s getting to both of the older men. It makes Blake feel ten years younger, pressing his thighs together as he feels the tight coil in his stomach tighten. He’s leant against the headboard, head back but eyes low and hooded as he watches the scene before him. The bed is creaking and shaking, and the noises fill the whole room, but it’s still not enough for Blake to finish with, so he closes his eyes and relaxes, which the Walrider takes as an invitation. 

It feels like Miles is in his lap, but he knows it isn’t. He can’t open his eyes, he won’t, because he knows that when he does all he will see is smoke or some manifestation of the creature, and he doesn’t know which one would be worse. Not-Miles grinds down on him, licking his neck and pulling his shirt down a bit to nip at his collarbone. It almost hurts, but it’s quickly soothed over with a sopping tongue, drooling all over Blake’s neck and coating it in a smell that reminds him of gunpowder. It’s metallic and cool, and with the noises of his two… whatever they’re considered at this point, he doesn’t think he can handle it anymore. Not-Miles picks up the pace, grinding down on his lap to the point where it strains his hips, and he’s coming with a loud grunt, and the shaking stops, which signifies that Miles and Waylon have just reached their finish as well. 

Miles pulls out, leaving an oversensitive Waylon to gasp and tense while trying not to pull Miles’ back in. It leaves him feeling empty, and cold, especially as the Walrider begins to dissipate, leaving all three men huffing in the cold, quiet room. 

Miles looks up, eyes still black as night, but there’s something else there. He blinks a few times, brow coiling, before he opens his mouth. _“Have you been there the whole time?”_

Suddenly Blake’s body freezes, and he panics, because what the ever-loving _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?

 _“I felt you,”_ the brown-eyed man motions with a thumb behind him, _“I thought you were there.”_

As unsettling as that would be a few weeks ago, they all just sort of go with it, because much, _much_ stranger things have happened. Blake goes to the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth for the boys. He changes out of his soiled boxers, throwing the dirty ones in the hamper and pulling on a pair that may or may not be Miles’. 

The afterglow does not fade. This isn’t a one-night stand despite the impending obstacles on the horizon. They clean up, make tea and hot chocolate, and settle down in front of the fireplace. They can’t stop touching each other. They’ve been touching for hours, but they can’t stop laying their legs across their laps and kissing and just putting their hands all over each other. All three men are in pure uninhibited bliss. 

Miles doesn’t think of Cory. This is his time, and Cory doesn’t deserve a second of it, especially when he is spending it with such lovely company. 

Waylon does not think of Lisa or the boys. He has to accept things are different now, and he hopes they are doing the same somewhere in the back of his mind, but things will never be the same and he can’t quite complain when he feels this good and carefree. 

Blake thinks of Lynn one last time. He left his Catholicism behind long ago, but Lynn was always holding on, so he hoped she was out there. He hoped she was watching and knew he was finally figuring out what the problem was all these years and why he couldn’t just show her how much he loved her when he was alive. He hopes she knows how much he loved her, even those last few months, and those last few moments.

The outside world is a silly place, they have come to realize over this season in the cabin. All their petty problems, all their overblown anxieties are complete nonsense now. They have each other, and they do not worry about prejudice or judgement, because that’s a thing from their past life, which is both a blessing and a curse, a hinder and a privilege. 

That is, until the outside world comes knocking once again in the form of Miles’ burner phone vibrating violently on the coffee table. He presses an obnoxiously wet kiss to Blake’s face that’s over-heated from the fire and gently places Waylon off his lap and onto the floor before excusing himself to the porch answer the phone call from Juan. 

“Jay, good man, how goes it?” 

“Well,” the man responds, but something is off. It’s not like last time, he’s not drunk, he sounds short. “When am I going to get those tapes, Upshur?” 

Miles taps his foot and worries his lip between his teeth. Juan must be under a lot of stress, he sounds more crass and impatient than Miles has ever heard him. 

“We’ve finished, sorry for the delay,” he tries to keep the irritation out of his voice, “I’ll transfer you some extra money from my Afghan funds when we’re home free.” 

“Sure, do as you please,” he hears papers shuffling from the other line, “It’s Wednesday, how does Friday sound? I’d say that gives you enough time to get to Reno?” 

“Reno?” Miles purses his lips, “You’re in Nevada right now?” 

“There’s a hotel just off 659, by the University; a Super Eight.” 

He leaves no room for arguments. 

“Sure, I’ll ready the cadets-” 

“Goodnight, Miles,” his tone is considerably more gentle now, “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You too, buddy, sorry about all this.” 

The line goes flat. He doesn’t know whether Juan heard that last bit or not, but he supposes he’ll have plenty of time to apologize to the man in person. Telling Blake and Waylon sucks, getting back in the Wrangler will suck a thousand times more, but they’re almost out of hot water, and it feels good. 

He can’t wait to set them free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i had to do it to em
> 
>  
> 
> ~~holy shit this is 3k words of smut and 3.5k of me being a gay softy~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her normally thick, tight-coiled hair was damp and covering her face, her dark skin had lost its natural glow, but she looked strong and fierce as ever. The look in her big, brown eyes as she caught sight of Waylon was fierce, and telling. 
> 
> “You can have her, your boys, your…” he looked Blake up and down, “life back. You can have it all, just tell us where the tapes are.” 
> 
> “I-I can’t… Why can’t you just give us Miles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some feels for you, a bit of back story, and the end of this story, but the start of another.

As they packed up their things and loaded it up into the cherry red Jeep, Waylon made a comment about how much he would miss the Nintendo, and Blake agreed, but they both knew it wasn’t about the gaming console. There was a small part of them all that wished they could come back, that their therapeutic time there didn’t have to end, but it was becoming increasingly cold up in the little cabin and they were very strapped for cash. Soon they would have to start hunting their own game to get along, and that wasn’t about to happen. They needed to take responsibility and bring Murkoff down, they couldn’t hide away forever.

Blake drove first, with Waylon in the passenger seat holding out a map for him to see and reading off the exits they would have to take. Being out in the world, or more out than they had been, was nerve wracking to say the least, but there was a different air about things now. The three of them were closer, they worked together, the anxiety that came with being alone in a world where insane rednecks and rioting mental patients were out for their blood had been put on the back burner a bit. At least Oregon was very beautiful this time of year, and the people were nice enough. 

Lynn had never been one for public displays of affection, but Miles and Waylon sure as hell were, and Blake wasn’t about to complain. At every rest stop the weather slowly got warmer and warmer as they neared their destination, and their clothes shed, but they were always touching somehow, no matter how warm it became. 

He watched Miles and Waylon in the gas station as he filled the car. They went in to grab smokes and breakfast, leaving the tallest to pump since they knew his stomach decided for his brain when it came to food. Miles followed Waylon around like a dog, a hand on his lower back, leaning down across his shoulders as he bent over to pick something, or holding a hand on his upper arm in case Waylon tripped over the threshold at the front entrance, knowing his leg still wasn’t one-hundred-percent. It was protective, yes, but he also knew this was Miles being Miles, especially when they browsed the different slushie flavours and the youngest slipped his hand into the blonde’s back right pocket, because _that_ was definitely not for injury support. 

For as long as Blake has known him, Miles has been a very proud person. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he was always very loud and open about what he believed in – a very passionate man. Cory was also a very proud person, so maybe that’s what drew them together in the first place; lord knows what else Miles saw in him. 

They met at university, apparently in one of Miles’ social science classes. Partnered for a project, they hit it off immediately, and Cory’s passionate and confident exterior had Miles immediately enthralled in the man. 

But Miles was loud in proud in ways that made Cory scoff and mock him. Affection was saved just for the bedroom, and although Cory was nothing but polite and sweet to Miles every time he came over to the Langermann’s for dinner, there was just something about him that rubbed Blake the wrong way. Lynn never saw until one day Miles came home in the early hours of the morning, drunk and sobbing with one of the worst black eyes the cameraman had ever seen, saying Cory hit him. 

Blake was fuming, but Lynn just insisted there were always two sides to one story. She didn’t understand, she didn’t feel the way every word that came out of Cory’s mouth sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him, or how different his smug grin was in contrast to Miles’. This was just a few days before they had to leave for a job in Buffalo, and it set Blake on edge. He wasn’t about to just leave Miles here, he was just a kid and the love of his life just raised a fist at him, but both Lynn and Miles insisted they did their job, and that he would be fine. 

When they came back, the bruise had turned a sickly shade of yellow and purple, and Miles told them both that Cory forgave him. 

Cory forgave _him._

They would see them at the university sometimes when they came for conferences or work, or when they picked Miles up in their old Sprinter van. Miles would reach for his hand, and it would be subtly smacked away, or he would lean on Cory a bit too much to be platonic, and the older boy would snap at him, tell him to sit up straight. Miles was touch starved and closeted once again, so maybe that’s why he put up with all the private things they got up to. It was so strange how such a loud, stubborn kid could be coerced and silenced like Miles was then, and it proved how in love he was, or how much he thought he was. This was his first real love he had ever had, and all he wanted was to experience life like he had always imagined.

Then it happened. Blake will never forget that night. He’ll never forget how he felt, or the look on Miles’ face. 

Cory had taken Miles out for birthday dinner, just a few days before the semester ended, so both Langermanns assumed this was code word for a party, not that they minded. The doorbell rang three times in succession with an urgency that couldn’t have been anything but ding-dong ditchers getting ready to scram as soon as the door opened. 

Lynn cracked the door and let out the most blood-curdling scream Blake had ever heard in his entire life, and as soon as she called his name, he was off the couch and rushing down the hall to the foyer. 

Miles was sprawled out on the front steps, shirtless and blacked out, marks covering his chest and neck, as well as a few on his face, belt and jacket completely missing from his person. His normally well-groomed hair was wild and pulled in all directions as it rested across Lynn’s lap while she cradled his head. 

A car raced out of their driveway; a white BMW that Blake recognized as Cory and Miles’ friend Melissa’s, but he knew right away that this was Cory’s fault, Miles was the proof alone. 

Lifting Miles’ unconscious body was no easy feat, but he felt lighter than he had the last time Lynn and him had loaded the drunk boy into the van and up the stairs to the house. He looked skinnier, his face was more defined but not in an adult way, it looked sunken in. Blake cursed himself for not noticing the obvious signs of Miles’ suffering. 

When Miles woke up he began to sober, thrashing and screaming and fighting with Lynn in a blind panic as she cleaned up some of the bitemarks on his neck to the point where Blake had to grab his arms and use his weight to pin him to the bed, which resulted in even worse thrashing than before, but eventually he calmed, whatever he had been given wore off, and the screaming turned into loud, broken sobs that wretched Blake’s heart clean out of his chest. 

“All of them – “ screamed the boy, “I-It was all of them, fuck – “ 

“Miles,” he ran his hands through the man’s hair, “They’re not here anymore, you’re safe.” He tried getting closer, but Miles flinched violently against the headboard of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I should have known, I should have seen the signs – “ 

“It’s not your fault,” Miles choked through the tears, voice breaking and cracking in effort. “It’s mine, this is all my fault… I’ve just – “ 

“Miles!” Blake snapped but immedietly caught himself, voice becoming gentler, “Miles, this is not your fault. None of this is your fault. You have shitty friends who used you, you didn’t know when to give them up, but things like this they just…” he looked at his hands, “Happen.”

You’re never prepared for somebody you love to go through something like this, even if you have been put in a similar situation yourself. Nothing prepares you for the gravity, nothing prepares you for the look on their face or the hurt that they feel. Miles latched onto Blake and poured everything out, pent-up emotions falling like a waterfall onto the older man’s t-shirt and jeans, but he just let it happen because he would have given anything to have somebody to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on back then. He would have given anything to have Miles not have to relive the horrors he went through. 

Miles stayed in bed for a few days. He stared at the wall, didn’t go to class, Lynn could barely even get him to eat. Blake knew what that was like, betrayed by somebody who was supposed to protect you, losing the motivation for every day function. He also knew Miles, and that wallowing in your grief did nothing but make things worse. 

“Alright,” announced Blake, walking into the guest bedroom with fresh towels and boxer briefs, “Wakey wakey, buddy, it’s time to get ready.” 

“For what?” 

“Well, first you’re going to have a shower, because you smell, then you’re going to come downstairs and watch a movie with me because Lynn’s at an interview and I’m bored.” 

Every movement was calculated and slow, as to not jar Miles into a panic, but the kid didn’t seem to be panicking anymore, just sulking. He watched as Blake moved to the bed and set the clothes down, running a hand through his greasy sweat-soaked hair. 

“How you feeling?” 

“Like shit.” 

“Yeah, I could imagine,” the older man worried his lip as he stared into Miles’ dead eyes, waiting for any response to his presence, but it never came. “Listen, I know – actually, I don’t know what you’re going through. The process is different for everybody, I shouldn’t make assumptions.” He leant his head against the wall beside the bed and shut his eyes, “I know that it’s difficult. I know you feel disgusting, and betrayed, and you’re hurting more than you ever have. I know this feels like the end, and like you have nobody, but that’s not true, you just have shitty taste in friends.” 

He peeked one eye open to reveal Miles sitting a bit more upright, staring at Blake with a pissy expression that was slowly melding into something softer, sadder. 

“I know that it will take a while, but you’ll bounce back from this. You’re the toughest kid I know, and if I could do it, you will have absolutely no problem.” 

Miles didn’t respond, but his face fell, understanding the insinuation in Blake’s words. 

“Nothing’s gonna get better if you just lock yourself up and dissociate the hours away, Miles, so you ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself?” 

Coming from anybody else, Miles would have clocked them straight across the jaw, but instead he nodded slowly, picked up the clothes, and entered the ensuite bathroom by himself. 

Apparently Miles had never seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, which was completely unacceptable in Blake’s books, so they he had no choice but to watch it. Miles was silent throughout the previews, and while Blake made popcorn, just wound a blanket tight around him and sat in silence as the opening title sequence came on and the green-eyed man settled onto the couch beside him. 

Then he laughed. He _laughed_ when Cameron phoned Principle Rooney pretending to be Ferris’ dad, and it almost startled Blake until he realized that it was a good sign, and for the rest of the movie Miles slowly relaxed, edging closer to Blake until he was pressed up against him and almost nodding off with his hand still in the buttery half-empty bowl in the older man’s lap.

“Matthew Broderick was so handsome,” he mumbled, making Blake let out a low chuckle. 

“Is this a recent discovery or have you been a Broderick admirer for a while?” 

“Oh no, my dad and I watched War Games back when I was in the fifth grade and I told him that I wanted David Lightman to be my wife.” 

Blake laughed so loud he snorted, cupping a hand over his mouth to try not to disrupt Miles’ movie-going experience too much, but failing miserably.

Seeing Miles this way was so refreshing, and a weight of worry left Blake’s shoulders gradually throughout the night, and when the credits rolled, and Miles was practically snoring into the empty tub of popcorn, Blake picked him up and carried him back to the guestroom. 

“Hey, Blakey?” he whispered, half hanging onto Blake and half struggling to keep an eye open. 

“Yeah, Miles?” 

“I don’t hate him.” 

“Jeff Jones?” 

“Noooo…” he pawed at the man’s chest, “Cory. I don’t hate him.” 

Blake set him down on the bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders with a benevolent expression. 

“Yeah, well, I do.”

“Don’t hurt him…”

Then he fell asleep, and Blake didn’t know how to take the sleepy words, but he always thought about him. The summer went on, Miles got better for himself and for Lynn and Blake, and blocked all his friend’s numbers. He got a job as an intern at the local newspaper and even saved up enough money to buy himself a car, since the Langermanns both insisted he didn’t pay rent or for groceries. 

They took him to his first pride parade that year, and the look on his face was priceless when they told him their plans. Miles was not flamboyant in any sense of the word, but he was, _passionate_ and god was he ever proud of who he was an who he was becoming, so he pulled on those skin-tight skinny jeans and painted his face, Lynn and Blake’s too, and coated them all in sparkles before heading out into the hot Houston heat to experience what he had been itching at for years –

and immediately cried off all his makeup. 

It was a good day for all of them. It was a good few months, despite the obvious pain Miles was going through, but he was tough as nails and had already been through the wringer enough that it had prepared him for most anything to come. 

It didn’t prepare him for going back to class, and seeing Cory across the room, almost throwing up right there on the spot. The other man obviously didn’t see him, a blessing in itself, but he barely had time before Miles was out the door and calling Blake at work to talk him down from a panic attack. 

When Blake got there, Miles was sitting in his Jeep, head in his hands, bawling his eyes out still but no longer in a state of attack. The older man crawled in, pulled Miles against him, and said nothing until he was ready to speak on his own. He said he thought he was ready, and that he thought he could handle it, but he couldn’t. He said he was going to have to drop out, probably face his parents when they eventually got wind that he didn’t complete the one thing he set out to do to spite them. 

“We can get help, Miles, we can tell the police – “ 

“You know what the fuck they’ll say?” yelled the brunet, “They’ll use my sexuality against me! It wasn’t just Cory, it was the girls too and that won’t help! It was Melissa, and Jana, and Michael, and I’m just a loud faggot, I’m not like them, I don’t have rich parents anymore, or a good reputation, so they’ll just – “ 

The tears began welling up again, and he was biting his lip so hard that Blake thought it might break. He couldn’t force Miles to go to the police, he knew the stress that came with that, but there was nothing else that he could do but hold him and talk him through it, and that was frustrating. 

Eventually Miles calmed down enough to drive himself home, and as Blake exited the car to get in his own, class was released and the students were moving to their cars to rush back to wherever they came from, except one. 

“Upshur,” Cory’s disgustingly syrupy voice spoke behind him as he tapped on the half-cracked window of the Jeep, “Ran out before I could say hello, but I could spot this piece of shit a mile away, it just screamed you. Haven’t heard from you all summer, how’ve you been?” 

“I-I-I’ve been – “ Miles began stammering, panicking again, not knowing what to do until Blake suddenly appeared behind Cory and pulled him from the passenger window. 

The noise his head made as it hit the side of the vehicle was sickening, and had Miles launching himself from the seat as soon as he heard it. Blake had practically picked Cory up by the shirt, pinning him to the boiling sun-soaked door as he threatened him within an inch of his life. 

“You’re lucky I don’t rock your shit right here and now,” Blake spat, “But he really doesn’t want me to. Beats me the fuck why, but that’s not going to stop me if you don’t leave him the fuck alone.” 

“I – “ 

“I mean it, fuckwad,” Blake lowered his voice to avoid causing a scene, “If you don’t drop out of every class you have with him I will smear your entrails all over my goddamn bedroom walls like a canvas so every night before I sleep I can think about how good it felt to put your insides on the outside, you hear me, fucker?” 

“Yessir!” 

Miles looked like he was about to reach out to Blake, to stop him, but the sight of the normally pacifistic man on the verge of bloodshed put him in a state of shock. 

“Good, because I’ve been thinking about it for a long time…” he gripped the man’s jaw tight between his fingers to stop him from looking at Miles when he made a noise, “You speak to him, look at him, even _breath_ in his direction, I will know, and there will be hell to pay.” Blake dropped him and his knees buckled, clutching his chest and gasping for breath on the hot, Texas pavement. 

Miles pretended to be mad, but it only lasted about a week before he finally caved. Apparently the ordeal had been as cathartic for Miles as it had been Blake, and Cory apparently got the message because he never showed up to another social science class ever again, and Miles never saw him around campus. 

So maybe that’s why Blake felt so warm and euphoric right now, watching Miles practically grope Waylon in the light of day in the middle of a busy gas station. The dent had been removed from the Jeep’s back door, and the physical scars and wounds from the ordeal were gone, but you never get over a devastation like that, not completely. Now there were bigger fish to fry, and the dirty look the mom by the chip section gave them as Miles erotically and dramatically sucked his slushy straw in Waylon’s direction for a laugh went unnoticed, and it brought a smile to Blake’s face. And when they finally made it to the car, Waylon gave Miles a huge, frosty kiss that made the younger man almost drop his bags, because he was so smitten with the smaller man that it was overwhelming sometimes. So yeah, this wasn’t the life he always thought he lived, but he sure as hell hoped this wasn’t the end of their time together. 

~~~

**“NO!”**

Waylon had thought the two men in the backseat were asleep until Miles suddenly jumped through the middle console and slammed the power button the radio, effectively giving Waylon, and apparently Blake, a heart attack. 

“Jesus christ!” the blond stopped himself from swerving last minute, clutching his chest as Miles slipped back into the backseat. “What the hell was that for?” 

“I hate Bon Jovi.” 

“A normal person would say ‘Hey, Waylon, mind turning the station?’ I think I just shit myself.” 

“Am I a normal person?” was Miles’ only defense as he moved back, sliding into his spot on top of Blake, who’s eyes were wild and frazzled, looking around like he had just seen a ghost. 

Waylon huffed with a shake of his head, turning the radio back on with the volume on low so he could change the station without reprimand from Miles.

Then there were quiet noises, a low whine coming from the backseat followed by a deep chuckle from Blake that had Waylon readjusting his rear view mirror to see them. 

“Are you guys making out?” 

Miles pulled away with a loud, wet sound, his lips already dark red and his hair a bit messy from sleep and Blake carding his hands through it. 

“Yeah, you wanna join?” 

Waylon pursed his lips, “I think I’ll pass.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

This worked for a while, until he had to turn the radio up to block out the rather obscene noises from the backseat. This only worked for so long, because Miles was a rather vocal man, and suddenly the Walriders static thrum threw off the radio.

“Oh fuck…” ignoring the ache in his lap, Waylon pulled off into a national park’s parking lot, and hopping in the back seat as well. 

~~~

The nerves that had settled in all three men were now completely on edge, making Blake and Waylon jittery, but not Miles. He was calm, collected as ever, trying to put on a front; trying to convince his boys that this was not it but it was the start of something else. 

Maybe it would have been more effective if he believed it himself. 

The hotel was nice, discrete, but was crawling in tourists though, which didn’t add to the atmosphere at all. So many university parents here to visit kids that couldn’t come home for the holidays, so many people here to see family, but that would make their visit all the more private.

They didn’t hold hands, but as soon as they got to the door Blake and Waylon were pressed up against each other, so close to Miles that he could feel their breath on his back. Close proximity brought comfort, but their breath still caught in their throat as the door opened and Juan answered. 

 

“Boys,” he said with a small, forced smile. “Please, come in. You must be cold.” He looked tired as hell, dishevelled and disorganized, which could probably be pinned down on his long drive from Phoenix. 

“You have no idea,” Miles pulled the other two inside, “That fire in the cabin only goes so long.” 

“My grandfather’s cabin, I know.” Juan nodded, “You have the tapes?” 

Miles handed them over and Juan opened the cameras, pulling out the small cartridges and giving them a once over before putting them back in their place, and moving through a bit of footage. “This is not an asylum,” He bit his lip momentarily, not looking up to meet the three men’s anticipating eyes. 

“It’s my tape,” Blake cut in, “Waylon’s was lost in the asylum.” 

“This has… everything on Murkoff?” 

“As much as you would need to get them behind bars, I swear it. Or at least enough to make a racket.” 

Jay nodded, still not meeting Miles’ eyes, but there was something there, like he was holding back something. Then he looked at the youngest of the men, tears welling, eyes bloodshot. 

“I’m sorry that you… lost Mr. Park’s tapes,” he said, accentuating the way he said ‘lost’, keeping eye contact with the brunet. “I’m sorry, boys, I really am.” 

“Jay,” Miles shook his head, “You’ve done so much for me, for us-“ 

“No, Miles,” a tear slipped down his cheek, “Really, I’m sorry.” 

Miles squinted, turning to look at the other men before flinching violently, crying out with his head in his hands. 

“Miles?” 

The man just screamed in return, falling to his knees and letting his head hit the carpeted floor of the dingy motel room. Waylon and Blake were immediately on him, trying to get him to speak, say anything, but he was crying and screaming, and the Walrider began seeping out of him in the form of smoke and thick, viscous sludge that poured from his mouth, and nose, and ears. 

**“What the fuck did you do to him?!”** yelled Blake, staring daggers into Juan, but it was obvious this was not the man’s doing, he looked just as horrified as they felt. 

The door fell suddenly, making the three of them jump, Way and Blake scrambling to pick Miles up, but he wouldn’t budge. It was that same signal again, the one he had heard on their way to Oregon, the one that rendered him absolutely useless and blinded by pain. 

Men in suits and a few armed militia officers surrounded them, pointing their guns straight at the older of the trio. They couldn’t speak or think, Waylon could barely breath with the amount of panic that had settled in him, knowing he was about to have an attack. The last thing Waylon remembers before everything went black was watching as they put a bag over Blake’s head, and the sound of somebody screaming as Miles stood and turned a sickening shade of grey. 

~~~

“Way?” 

Somebody was shaking him. 

“Waylon!” large hands gripped his face and shoulder, “Waylon! Wake up, please!” 

God, why did his head hurt so badly? Why was his throat so dry and his lungs ache? 

“Please, Way,” a tear touched his face and he suddenly jolted awake, knowing full well that this was not Trent, and he was not back at school. 

“Blake?” he opened his eyes, taking in the man that was holding him in his lap. There was bruising across his left cheek, and his glasses had been shattered on that side as well. His nose had a bit of dried blood beneath and his shirt was slightly damp, but Waylon didn’t know if it was from sweat or condensation, since the room they were in currently was muggy and seemed to be leaking somewhat from the corners and roof. 

“They took Miles.” 

“What?” 

“As soon as they put their hands on us the Walrider just… woke up, and it threw them off us, but then they did something to it and… I don’t know you passed out, they dragged us here.” 

“Where’s here?” 

“I don’t know but they put us in here… half an hour ago, maybe? I haven’t seen or heard anybody since.” 

Waylon got off Blake’s lap and looked around. The larger man had dragged him to the far corner of the room, away from the door on the other side. There was only one door, no windows, and the air was humid and thick, stale, which meant they were underground, in some sort of basement. 

“What the fuck do they want…” 

Waylon crawled back over and pulled Blake’s head to his chest, letting the man hold him close and hide his face in his shirt.

“Listen, Miles is safe – “ 

“You don’t know that!” 

“Miles is safe. We’re fine. If he wasn’t, we would hear, because if the Walrider was free, they’d be fucked. There’d be alarms, screaming, panic, it would be Mount Massive all over again.” 

“… that’s not reassuring.” 

“Odds are they’re keeping him in a containment chamber, they probably have the engine running to keep him in check, or their using that… y’know, frequency jammer to keep him quiet.” 

“It hurts him so much – “ 

“I know, Blake, I know, but one wrong move and he’s out of there. Trust me, they can’t keep him contained for long.” 

As he spoke, footsteps came down the long corridor, pausing for a moment before the door swung open, revealing a man in a well-fitted suit, multiple armed men accompanying him, holding a file in his hand. 

“Waylon Junsu Park and,” he flipped a page over, “Blake Robert Langermann? I’m sure it’s a pleasure, but you see, circumstances don’t permit such leisurely assumptions.” 

The way he walked, the sickening lilt of his voice, the way his eyes were just a little too dark to be normal, this man reeked of Jeremy Blaire, and it made Waylon sick to his stomach. 

“Blaire, I presume,” he spat, “What the fuck do you want from us?” 

“Henry Blaire, yes, I see why my son was so fond of you. You’re observant, I like that.” He took a step forward, still sorting through the pages in his hand, “Well, he was fond of you until you stopped doing your job.”

“I _always_ did my job, until the last second,” Waylon defended himself, “Even when I realized that my job involved harming innocent men who had no clue what was happening to them.” 

“Not innocent. If they were innocent they wouldn’t be contained – “ 

“Then how come I was in there?! What was my crime?! Defending the weak? Please.” 

“Exploiting the weak was never our intention, Mr. Park, but sometimes things just play out that way.” 

Blake shifted, pulling Waylon closer so they were pressed together at every angle. He did not trust this man, and if they tried to take Waylon away, he wasn’t sure what he would do, he hoped his body language conveyed this. 

“You should be thanking me. If it weren’t for my quick thinking last minute, you would both be dead now.” He stepped towards them, “Where are your tapes, Mr. Park?” 

“What?” 

“We were listening to your conversation with Mr. Hernández, you said you lost the tapes at the asylum, but Mr. Hernández informed us in September that there would be two sets of tapes, so where are yours?” 

Of course he had picked up on that. They thought just to be safe, just in case, they would hide the Waylon’s tapes for a bit of extra leverage in case Murkoff went after them again, or maybe to release at a later date, and he was so thankful Blake had thought of it, because maybe it just bought the three of them a ticket out of there. 

“Give us Miles,” Blake spoke finally, “And let the three of us walk, you can have your tapes, just let us go.” 

“You see, I can’t do that,” Henry clicked his tongue, “But what I _can_ do is give you something.” 

With a snap of his fingers two men left the room, returning with a woman in handcuffs, thick layers of duct tape over her mouth. 

“Lisa?” 

Her normally thick, tight-coiled hair was damp and covering her face, her dark skin had lost its natural glow, but she looked strong and fierce as ever. The look in her big, brown eyes as she caught sight of Waylon was fierce, and telling. 

“You can have her, your boys, your…” he looked Blake up and down, “life back. You can have it all, just tell us where the tapes are.” 

“I-I can’t… Why can’t you just give us Miles?” 

“Because he is not Miles ‘Pain in my Ass’ Upshur the investigative reporter anymore, he’s The Walrider!” Henry spat, “He’s the vessel, you’d think you would know that after months of hiding out with him in some shack up in the Rockies and letting him fuck your brains out!” 

Lisa startled, looking from Blaire, to Waylon, then to Blake. 

“Oh, sorry, did I say that out loud?” he reached to Lisa’s face and pulled off the tape with a harsh _rip_ , “Sorry, Mrs. Park, but I think the bite marks and suck bruises all over young Mr. Upshur are indicative enough that just your presence alone won’t cut it. Please, beg him.” 

“Waylon,” her strong voice broke, “Waylon, baby, I don’t know what he’s talking about but _please_ just give him the tapes, they will leave us alone. Please, Waylon, the boys miss you –“ 

“They’ll never leave us alone,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle, “Lisa, don’t you get it? I give them the tapes, they’ll keep us quiet, we’re in their debt forever!” 

“Waylon!” she yelled, “I know you’re trying to do the right thing but I can’t do this anymore! I want to go home, I want to have you home with me, I’d rather be paid off to live in the country than have you die; then have my kids not have a father anymore!” 

Her eyes were wide and she wasn’t taking his shit anymore, he could tell. She had made up her mind, and he knew there was no talking her down. Lisa always had a much stronger sense of justice than him, that’s what drew her to becoming a lawyer, so the begging and pleading and not taking no for an answer meant she truly felt powerless in the situation. 

“L-Lisa,” tears formed in his eyes, “I want to, I want to say yes, but they’ll kill him – “ 

“They’ll kill me,” she exclaimed, “Doesn’t that matter to you?” 

“Of course it does!” 

“Then give him the tapes, Waylon – “ 

“But I love him too!” he yelled back, “I love Miles and Blake, and I love you, but I need you to understand that giving them those tapes is not the answer right now!” 

Henry sighed, burying his face in his palms for a second before he motioned one of the armed guards forward. 

“What are you doing?” 

One of them kicked Lisa in the back of the legs, knocking her to her knees, her face hitting the grimy floor. 

“Stop! Stop it! It doesn’t have to be like this!” Blake was holding him back now, wrapping his arms tight around Waylon’s waist to stop him from being shot. 

The gun nestled into the back of Lisa’s thick, coiled hair, and the room went dead quiet. 

“I’m not a monster, Mr. Park,” Henry explained, “but I think you might be.” 

Waylon sunk against Blake, watching as Lisa eyes shut tight and her chest heaved, the barrel of the gun pushing her already bruising face further into the concrete. 

“You would let the mother of your children die before you gave up those tapes, what does that say about you?” he stepped towards the two on the floor, well into their space. “Tell me, Mr. Park, is it for justice or your boyfriends?” When he leaned in further, Waylon scrambled and pulled Blake further behind him. “Which do you think is worse?” he whispered, barely audible to anybody but Waylon. 

And Waylon spit in his face. 

This shocked everybody in the room, but it was Blake who sprung into action first, pulling Waylon to the side so that they couldn’t take him. “Way, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” 

“Men,” Henry wiped the saliva from his cheek, “Separate Mr. Park and Mr. Langermann, please.” 

“No!” Blake pulled him closer, “No! No, don’t fucking touch him!” 

Waylon’s wiry frame was pulled from his grip with a force that knocked him backwards onto the tile, and suddenly he was on the ground, another gun barrel pressed onto his head, but he did not looked panicked. 

“Mr. Langermann, where are the tapes?” 

He stared right at Blake. Right into his jade coloured eyes, azure irises unreadable. There was shouting, running around the room, maybe Lisa was yelling, he couldn’t tell. He heard nothing, just blood rushing in his ears, his pulse jumping out of his veins, every sense had been turned up so high that he couldn’t feel anything, hear anything, see anything but Waylon, head pressed hard into the ground with a _smirk_ on his face. 

Then suddenly a spatter of red. Blood and matter across the floor, the wall, all over Waylon’s thick mop of sandy blond hair, and adding to the thousands of freckles on his face. A bit of it hit his own, dusting his nose and left side, and probably covering his clothes. This was it. This was the end. 

The gun was gone, and Waylon looked up at Blake, and his smirk grew. 

Sound came back, and there was screaming, and crying, and suddenly Waylon was on his feet, not splattered across the cement, and he pulled Lisa towards Blake and was hovering over them both protectively, pressing them against the wall while the chaos ensued, and Blake just shut his eyes because he didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t know if he wanted to. This could be some weird dissociative dream, maybe Waylon was shot, this was his brain trying to cope with it. Maybe being in such close proximity to the engine was affecting him, who knew, but he clutched Waylon’s jacket and pulled him close until everything went quiet. 

The blond moved away, and he finally opened his eyes. 

Miles was in the center of the room wearing nothing but his briefs. His skin was off-grey and there were pronounced black veins all over his body, protruding obnoxiously. He turned around to face them, his eyes sunken and darker than they had ever been before, the dark, sludgy blood from his nose and mouth contrasting against his skin, but not a speck of blood elsewhere on his body, except his hands. 

And the Walrider was there too, towering over him. 

_**”Blake? Waylon?”** _

“Y-Yeah, Miles –“ stammered the blond. 

_**”Lisa?”**_ his eyes bored into her, making her tense and clutch onto Waylon. _**”You’re all okay?”**_

“We’re fine, Miles – “ 

_**”They were going to shoot you.”**_ he brought a hand up to his chest, leaving a bloody mark over his heart, _**”I felt it.”**_

“We’re safe, Miles,” reassured Blake, “They’re gone now.” 

Miles nodded quietly, and suddenly the Walrider’s looming figure moved towards him, gripping his face tightly between its talons, and disappeared. 

Miles’ knees buckled but Blake was up and catching him before he could hit the ground, supporting the entirety of the younger man’s weight. He turned to Waylon, looking for any sign as to what their next move was. 

“Lisa,” he gripped her shoulders and picked her up, leading her over the body of an officer, “time to get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has taken four years off my life and when I've posted the epilogue I will eat forty pizza pops to celebrate.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Waylon, honey,” she leaned with a look of soft concern, in which caused him to pull away slightly, but she didn’t move back, “I want to be able to bring the boys down here, but I can’t until you tell me where Lisa has been, and where you’ve been all this time.” 
> 
> “I-I-I’m just-“ he started tapping his foot, “S-Sorry, Laverne, it’s just been a long – a long few months.” He rubbed his face in his palms, “Can I just – Can I talk to the men? The men who came with me?” 
> 
> Laverne frowned, looking quite distraught. “Honey, I know something is very wrong, and it may not be your fault, but I need you to get your story straight before we make any decisions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't even good by any standards but I still sob like a little bitch when I read it, I am a weak man.

The facility had been on a mountainside of some sort, a hill overlooking the large scape of Reno. When they exited, Blake supported Miles’ powerful yet crumbling body, and Waylon carried Lisa with an arm under her shoulders as she hid her face in his neck. You could have heard a pin drop between their foot steps, their manoeuvring around the corpses that Miles, the Walrider, had created. There was no speaking, only heavy breathes and light, calculated steps until they reached the entrance to the facility. 

The sun was low in the sky, yet none of them could tell you whether it was rising or setting. The city seemed to be coming alive, but it may have just been waking up. An unfamiliar city full of strangers, but they would rather have strangers than Murkoff after their tails. 

When they exited they realized they had nowhere to go. Blake sat Miles down on a nearby rock and began to discuss their plan of action next to a rather dazed and quiet Lisa, who just stared at Miles’ face like there was something funny on it. The Jeep was presumably back at the Super 8, and between the four of them, one borderline comatose woman, two panicked and distressed men covered in blood, and one ghastly younger man who looked on the brink of death in nothing but his underwear, hitchhiking was not on option. 

Then Miles stood, and his eyes turned black before the Walrider appeared and disappeared into the facility. The action startled Lisa, making her recoil and grip tightly to Waylon’s forearm but he just reached out to Miles and gripped his shoulder. 

“Where did you send it?” 

_”To get the Jeep…”_ came a hoarse, tired voice. 

Momentarily after, the large mass of smoke and nanoids returned, hovering beside the group and behind Miles. It reached over his shoulder, a human gesture made with inhuman movements, and handed a familiar set of keys to Waylon. 

“Thank you,” the blond told it. 

_**”You’re welcome, Waylon,”**_ it replied, though Miles nor its own mouth moved. It was strange to hear the independent voice of the Walrider, so completely void of any accent, inflection, or emotion. 

The Walrider did not dissipate, and Waylon, Blake, and Miles paid it no mind, though Lisa sure did. As Waylon carried half her weight and let the Walrider and Miles lead them to the vehicles location, Blake watched her, and she watched the Walrider. Her dark coffee coloured eyes never left it, not once. It was clear she didn’t understand nor trust it. 

All of them piled into the car and still the beast didn’t disappear. Blake got in, turning to assist Miles, but the Walrider just urged the man up and in, then settled into the seat. Waylon picked Lisa up and put her into the passenger seat before he got in the driver’s side himself. She seemed reluctant, but kept an eye on it through the side mirror the whole time. 

They started their drive and Blake reached into the back of the car, pulling some sweatpants and a hoodie to put Miles into. He still looked sickly and tired, but he was more in the moment than he had been, his skin a shade darker. He helped the man into the outfit, and gradually he settled into Blake’s shoulder, both falling asleep quietly. 

And even though he was asleep, the heavy drone that accompanied his usual sleeping pattern did not follow. Instead, he didn’t snore or buzz or shake, the Walrider’s material form did. 

_**”I feel that you do not trust me, Lisa.”** _

It was the first words any of them had spoken since they got in the car. The dark haired woman was obviously shaken, immediately whipping around in her seat and moving as far from the creature as possible with her seatbelt still attached. A sudden spurring reaction like she had just woken from her dazed state and realized the creature was real and she wasn’t imagining things. 

“Who – I’m sorry, what the fuck are you?” she hissed, “How do you know my name? How did you come out of this man? Why did –“ 

“Lisa,” Waylon interrupted with a hand on her shoulder, “It won’t hurt you.” 

She didn’t seem convinced and stayed tense and alert, though her shoulders did relax at the touch. 

_**”I have many names,”**_ it ran a long, boney hand through Blake’s tousled hair, an absentminded and, again, human gesture. _**”Today they say I am the Walrider, which I find I am quite partisan to.”**_

“You are?” Waylon asked, which earned him what he assumed was a nod, “I didn’t know you had preferences now.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lisa looking at him like he was crazy for conversing so casually with the creature. 

_**”Waylon,”**_ he could have sworn his name was said with the slightest bit of affection, _**”You in particular should know I am quite capable of being fond of many things.”**_

That had Waylon blushing profusely. He was glad both Blake and Miles were asleep, not needing the added embarrassment on top of Lisa’s look of horror. 

_**”Lisa, do not be afraid of me,”**_ it continued, _**”Waylon loves you. He holds you dear to his heart, and I do not wish to hurt him. I am responsible for his physical and mental wellbeing. I have kept him safe this long, and I will continue to do so.”**_

“Well,” she stated but her voice shook slightly, “Thank you, I guess.”

With a nod and a low, deep hum, the Walrider embraced Miles’ limp body and disappeared.

She looked discomforted still to turn around, but did so anyway. Waylon felt the urge to reach a hand over, to place their joined hands on the middle console as they used to when they drove together, but it felt wrong now. She was wrapping her mind around the events that had occurred, she was processing the nature of Waylon’s relationships with these men, with the creature that called itself the Walrider, with the suits who had captured her as she worked and stolen her from her children. Touching her now felt counterproductive, so he kept his eyes on the road and focused on the Walrider’s static tumult. 

“What will we do?” Lisa suddenly broke the silence, “When we get to where we’re going, what will become of-“ she motioned around them, “this?” 

Waylon worried his lip and thought for a moment, “I assume you’re at your parent’s house,” she nodded, “We’ll go there. We’ll contact VIRAleaks, give them our tapes and our stories, let everything but our names be heard. Murkoff will be pulled into a legal battle, but not with us, with the state, and hopefully, justice will be served.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Waylon turned to look at her and was met with a sombre, agitated expression. 

“I love you,” he said, voice unwavering, “These past few months haven’t changed that. I love you, Isaac, Ethan. I love your passion, I love Ethan’s creativity, I love Isaac’s sense of humour. I love having a family and I love the family I have made with you,” he stole a glance at the three in the back seat with his rear view mirror, “But I can’t go back to that.” 

“Because you’ve made a new family.” 

“Because I don’t have what you need anymore,” he knew she was crying so he avoided her eyes, “I’m not Waylon Park, tech support and model husband. I’m post Mount Massive Waylon Park, and that is not the man you married.” 

“You’ll always be the man I married,” she choked out, “We’ve been through hard times, we made it, we have two smart, loving, mature boys to show for it. Why is this any different?” 

Finally he caught her eye, and was practically locked on. Her eyes showed no remorse, no guilt, no sympathy, just a heavy look of betrayal and sadness. 

“You don’t know what happened. It is nothing like me working overtime to pay for diapers. It is absolutely _nothing_ like bucking up to call your parents and asked them to take care of the kids while you took a big case.” 

“Then what was it like, Waylon?” 

So he spilt everything like a tsunami wave. He told her about Blaire cutting off communications with his family. He told her about sending Miles the email, getting caught, and being detained. He told her about the experiments, the illegal activities, about Billy, Eddie, Frank, and Chris. He told her about Blaire, Trager, and the Walrider project. Then he told her Miles, and who he was, and how his life had been taken from him so young, maybe even before that. Then, Blake and Lynn, and how Murkoff had destroyed their lives as well. 

Most importantly, he told her about their time in the cabin. About how social anxiety attacks were nothing compared to the full-blown panic of PTSD. About all the times he thought about ending it, but the two men in the back seat got him through it, and vice versa. Lisa seemed to be listening, even as he explained, in loose details, the intimacy and closeness he shared with these men, and why it was so important to him, and how it had changed him; how this whole ordeal had changed him. 

She stayed silent before finally closing her eyes and resting her head against the headrest. 

“Will Murkoff come for us again?” 

“I wish I could say for sure,” he frowned, “But I don’t think so.” 

“Then I want the boys to see you,” she left no room for argument, “You need time to heal, time to fix yourself, but the boys need a father just as badly. I don’t care where you go, who you’re with, as long as you’re safe-“ her breath caught as she continued, obviously trying to tame her emotions, “I want them to visit you once a month, and me too. I want to see you at least that often.” 

“Anything you want,” he offered, “I’ll do anything, Lisa –“ 

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, “I want you to see a therapist, and I want them to as well –“ she motioned to Blake and Miles, “Because if they’re going to be around my kids, and my Waylon, they better be as emotionally fucking stable as possible,” she reached over and grabbed Waylon’s hand, interlocking their fingers. 

“If this is what’s best, that’s that and there’s nothing I can do but just find it in myself to accept it,” she stared at his hands, so much more tan and softer than she remembered, “But the boys need their dad, and I need a Waylon, even if it’s not the Waylon I married. So you answer their calls when they have trouble with their homework, and you answer mine when Caroline at the office is being a piece of work and I need to bitch about it, got it?” 

Finally, the blond smiled. A real, genuine, golden smile split his face and he squeezed Lisa’s hand back, hoping his gratitude was received. 

“Yeah, Lisa, I got it.” 

~~~

The reunion had not quite gone as planned. It turned out that Lisa had been missing for just less than 24 hours, and if it had been just an hour later than her parents, Laverne and Ben, were going to contact the police and put out a missing person’s report. 

The look on their faces as they answered the door to not just Lisa, but also her husband who had been MIA for almost a year, and two other men beaten and bloodied, was one of sheer confusion and horror, yet still they brought them inside and kept the boys upstairs as to not alarm them. 

Waylon was getting antsy. While Ben spoke to Lisa, Laverne sat him down on the couch, and was trying to coax some sort of explanation from them, but all he could think about was Isaac and Ethan sitting upstairs, trying to listen and figure out what the hell was going on, and he just kept fidgeting and asking her to repeat the questions. Without Blake and Miles with him, knowing they were sitting in the room down the hall probably worrying for him too, he had lost all confidence.

“Waylon, honey,” she leaned with a look of soft concern, in which caused him to pull away slightly, but she didn’t move back, “I want to be able to bring the boys down here, but I can’t until you tell me where Lisa has been, and where you’ve been all this time.” 

“I-I-I’m just-“ he started tapping his foot, “S-Sorry, Laverne, it’s just been a long – a long few months.” He rubbed his face in his palms, “Can I just – Can I talk to the men? The men who came with me?” 

Laverne frowned, looking quite distraught. “Honey, I know something is very wrong, and it may not be your fault, but I need you to get your story straight before we make any decisions.” 

Tears began welling in his eyes. He could hear Lisa and her father’s shouts from across the house, muffled by the door, which didn’t help. The familiar drone of the Walrider was nowhere to be found, and without it he had nothing to ground himself to, so he began to panic. 

“Th-the company I worked for –“ he started between calculated breaths, “Were involved in s-some illegal activities. I tried – I tried to help, get the word out, but they caught me, and –“ he bit his lip as he staved back the tears, “I was wrongfully committed, but I escaped during a riot, and I-I’ve been –“ he motioned to the hall, “w-with those two.” 

The older woman sighed deeply, resting her head on her hand. He had always admired her for her wisdom and patience, but this was obviously a complicated situation that even her years couldn’t prepare her for. 

“Okay, honey, come on,” she stood slowly, motioning for him to follow her. They both walked quietly down the hallway until they reached the lounge room where Miles and Blake where resting on the couch. The noise must have startled them, and quickly both of them were up and rushing towards Waylon, embracing him to the point where his shoulders ached and his breath was short, but he didn’t care, because they had made it, and they were here, and they were still with him. 

“Ba- Way, why are you crying?” Miles leaned forward and brushed the tears from his face. Waylon was glad he caught his affectionate name before Laverne heard; he didn’t need to drop two bombs on her today. 

“It’s nothing,” he reassured him, wiping the other side of his face, “I’m fine, just over tired. Happy, and stressed.” 

The door on the other side of the house opened and suddenly Ben and Lisa appeared with them. Lisa’s eyes peered around as if she was looking for the Walrider, but it had gone long ago, joining itself and Miles once again. It wouldn’t appear until it was safe to. 

“Waylon,” she said calmly though she had obviously been arguing moments before, “You can see the boys now.” 

He nodded, smiling to Blake and Miles before receiving quiet nods and a rub on the shoulder and arm, prompting him to visit them.

The walk up the long, spiralling staircase was nerve wracking and had his stomach doing somersaults. He felt he might vomit on the last few steps even. What if they hated him? Kids don’t understand things easily, even if they’re as smart as Isaac and Ethan, but they’re at that age where everything is changing, so they have it harder already. Ethan may be easier to coerce, but Isaac was stubborn, probably holding a lot of anger in since the first time Waylon went away for the job with Murkoff. He remembered that night like it was yesterday, the calculated glare that Isaac had given him, the forced _‘I love you’_ he spat as Waylon told him and his younger brother the same thing, it was heart-wrenching but it was a decision that had already been made, and he knew Isaac would come around sometime. 

Would Isaac come around this time?

As he approached the door to the guestroom, where the boys stayed while they visited their grandparents, he paused slightly. With a deep breath, he mustered all his confidence, and knocked three times. 

The door immediately swung open, and he was engulfed in a hug. Two hugs, to be precise. Both were taller than he remembered, and Ethan’s hair had been left to grow and stay natural, it was now tightly coiled and stood straight out instead of kept short and shaven close to hide the natural curls, but he would still recognize his children anywhere. His children, with all of Lisa’s dominant black genetics; dark skin, hair, and irises, but with his build, freckles, and monolid eyes, no doubt a combination of them both. 

They didn’t say anything just yet, but they clung to him, and he held them close, letting the tears fall freely once again. Isaac also seemed to be crying a bit as well. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Isaac whispered, “Don’t leave us again.” 

“I won’t,” he promised, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

~~~

“No, listen, Etha-“ he was suddenly cut off by an angry tirade, “Ethan, your teacher may be an idiot, but I think you’re just daydreaming in class again.” 

The one-sided argument continued and Waylon couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Ethan’s math teacher was apparently new this year, and giving him nothing but trouble. It didn’t seem to be an issue of prejudice, but Lisa was on the verge of getting involved. To Waylon, it sounded like Ethan was just not enjoying grade 7 maths very much. 

“Ethan –“ he interrupted, “Listen, tomorrow I’ll Skype you after school and you can show me the new assignment and what you’re having trouble with.” 

_”Okay…”_ came the boy’s muffled voice over the line, _”Hey, dad?”_

“Yeah, buddy?” 

_”Isaac and I have been wondering, when will we see you again?”_

The blond made a small, sad smile to himself and gripped one hand on the steering wheel. He was parked, but he tried to avoid turning it. 

“Summer break is coming up, isn’t it?” he asked, “I’m going to start working again in a few weeks, but I would love to have you guys out here if you’d like.” 

_”That’d be sick! But…”_ his voice trailed off.

 

“But?” 

_”You’re living with… those men, right? In Oregon?”_

A lump caught in Waylon’s throat, not liking where this conversation was going. 

“Yeah, we are,” he gripped the phone a little tighter, “Is that… a problem? If you’re not ready to see them, I can always come-“ 

_”No, it’s fine, dad,”_ Ethan reassured him, _”They probably don’t want two kids running around their house, that’s all.”_

“Hey, that’s not true!” Waylon said, catching sight of Blake leaving the therapist’s building across the parking lot, “They’ve been asking about you, actually.” 

_”Really?”_

“Yeah, they want you here just as bad as I do,” he unlocked the doors to the little Honda, “Blake wants to take you guys fishing, and Miles keeps going on and on about all the movies you need to see.” 

Blake opened the door and got into the passenger seat, mouthing _Ethan?_ and getting a nod in response. 

_”I’ve never been fishing before,”_ he sounded excited. 

“Yeah, our property is on a lake, you can go fishing right on the dock,” he smiled at the thought, a picture of them all sitting together, swimming, sun-bathing, and fishing right on their private dock. “I think you’d really like it.” 

_”I think so too, I’ll ask Isaac and mom if it’s okay.”_

“Good,” he turned the keys in the ignition, “Listen Ethan, I’m just about to start driving home now but we’ll talk about it more tomorrow over Skype, okay? And I’ll text your mom.” 

_”Okay! Bye, Dad, I love you!”_

“I love you too, Ethan, have a good night,” he hung up and turned to Blake, who reached over and gave him a kiss, “How’d it go?” 

Blake gave him two thumbs up, “I am now officially ready to join the working class citizens of the world.” 

“Blake, that’s awesome!” he pulled him in for another deeper kiss before he turned his attention to the car, “We should order-in, get something greasy to celebrate.” 

“I literally just texted Miles to order pizza from Milano’s, so we should go pick it up,” he smiled, “I’m excited.” 

“Who’d have thought they’d live to hear a man say he was excited to go back to work, eh?” 

“My job is good, it’s always interesting,” he put his phone down, “Even if it’s just at the local news station, it’s something. Did I hear you say the boys are coming to visit?” 

Waylon pulled out onto the busy street, “Not for sure yet, we still have to ask Lisa, but god I hope so.” 

“Well, fingers crossed!” 

Their house was a bit out of the way, so the ride home was filled with chatter about what Blake had gone over with his therapist, what options he had to go forward with his career. The woman was all three of their therapists, and once a month they did a group session together, so he was very familiar with the woman. She said with Blake’s extensive resume and the ongoing demand for people in the workplace lately in this area of the state, he should have no problem landing a gig, even if it’s smaller than he would usually go for. 

On their way home they stopped at Milano’s Pizzeria and got the food Miles had ordered, three large pizzas with too much dip and a two-four of beer, because it’s Miles. 

When they got home said man was at the dining room table, surrounded by files and papers of all sorts, his laptop stacked precariously on an unstable bunch of folders as he carded through the others. Soft rock played over the computer speakers, maybe Fleetwood Mac but Waylon couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Miles was on a brand new case, something really big this time, he had assured his boyfriends. Now that they had government reimbursements and support from special services, he could afford the cases he wanted. Maybe they didn’t have to work, sure, but it was good to keep busy. It kept them sane, and tethered down, and if the extra money went towards Isaac and Ethan’s post-secondary funds, all the more reason to work for it. It was always interesting seeing him get like this, completely immersed and dedicated to his work, but sometimes he got a little _too_ immersed, like now when he didn’t notice the door open and close, or even move a muscle when the smell of pizza filled the small kitchen. 

“Miles?” Waylon called, but got no answer. 

“Miles!” Blake yelled, yet still no answer. 

Then the Walrider, who had apparently been sitting beside him, pulled the paper out from in front of his face and turned his head towards the two men now in the room. 

“Oh! Hey! When did you guys get here?” 

“Like two minutes ago,” Waylon held up the boxes, “We come bearing gifts.” 

“Loves of my life,” Miles immediately stood, wrapping his arms around Blake’s waist as he sorted out the pizza situation on the counter and peppering kisses to the back of his neck, “How was your session with Ms. Ueno?” 

“Good!” he turned his head for a proper kiss before Miles moved on to greet the other man with a peck as well, “She said I can head back to work at any time.” 

“Blakey, that’s awesome!” Miles looked ecstatic, “I was wondering why the cause for celebration.” 

Waylon handed him a beer and a plate of Hawaiian slices before grabbing his own and following the other men outside to their patio. It was nice, overlooking the property, the lake, the grassy fields beside the house, and the old, red barn that they had left alone since they moved in. They had some old, worn-in lawn chairs set up, and when the weather was nice enough they often sat out here for dinner, sometimes breakfast and lunch. The warm breeze, the fish jumping from the still water, and the deer that sometimes passed were a gentle reminder of the once bustling city lives all three of the men had once had. 

“Ethan and Isaac might visit,” the blond said to the brunet, “This summer.” 

“That’s awesome! Oh man, there are so many things we gotta do, you know?” 

Waylon nodded and chewed thoughtfully on his pizza, “I think I want Lisa to come too.” 

Blake and Miles shot each other a look but didn’t comment further. 

“She wants to see me too. We’re still best friends,” he looked a bit guilty, “I miss her.” 

“Hey,” Blake pat his shoulder, “We’d love to have her and the boys, as long as that’s what you want.” 

The blond nodded, sinking his teeth into the crust of his latest slice. The horizon was darkening slightly with thick, heavy clouds, meaning it was going to rain soon. He heard Oregon in the spring was quite rainy, and it had been so far, but the weather was still lovely and ideal, no matter what. If it stormed, he stayed inside and huddled up with the boys for a movie, if it was sunny they went down to the lake and swam, or went out fishing on the boat. Sometimes they talked about getting dogs, maybe a farm animal or two, but there was so much responsibility already that they hadn’t gotten around to it. 

If it weren’t for the scars on his body and mind, on his boyfriends’ as well, or the otherworldly creature sitting at his dining room table filing through papers, he could pretend that this was a normal life, a life he always had. 

~~~

“-And you have to be careful not to swing it too fast. If you do it wrong, you could get the hook in you or somebody else, and believe me –“ Blake turned to give Miles, who was tredding in the water, a look, “It’s not fun.” 

“I’m missing two fingers, Blake,” the younger man cried, “It was one time, have a little sympathy!” 

Both Isaac and Ethan chuckled at the exchange, then turned back to the job at hand. All day they had been antsy, looking forward to heading down to the dock to start fishing, and finally they had gotten the go ahead from Waylon and Lisa. Blake was a good teacher, and the boys were better students than Miles and Waylon. Within minutes both boys had their lines in the water, and everybody was injury free. 

Waylon and Lisa were sitting further up the dock, laid out on towels and soaking in the sun in their bathing suits with an old Golden Retriever nestled between them, head resting on her paws, falling asleep in the noonday sun. The angle was just right that they got the perfect amount, and although Waylon was quite tan from the outdoor life already, he knew he would probably find himself with a bit of a redder tint after the day. 

“Did he have kids?” Lisa asked, motioning to Blake, who was laughing at something Ethan had told him. 

“No,” Waylon’s face fell a bit, “No, not really.” 

“He’s good with them. I worry about Miles though,” she smiled warmly and turned it to Waylon, “If he tries to get them to watch A Clockwork Orange one more time I might have to sit him down for a talk.” 

Waylon let out a quiet chuckle, “He’ll stop if you ask him, he doesn’t listen to me.” 

They both watched as said man pulled himself from the icy water and onto the dock, shaking like a dog and spraying all three on the other side, earning many noises of complaint. The noise had the senior dog up and running towards Miles, tail wagging and letting out a series of excited barks as the man rubbed her ears and made kissy faces at her. 

“Remind me why you got a dog so old?” 

Waylon scoffed and shook his head but explained anyway, “We kept trying different rescues but all of them were afraid of Wally, but Margaret –“ he pointed to the dog wrestling the brunet, “has absolutely no fear, I swear.” 

“Wally?” she cocked an eyebrow at the blond.

“That’s…” he rubbed the large brazen scar on his ankle that was itching a bit in the sun, “what we’ve been calling the Walrider.” 

“You and your names,” Lisa laughed. “Where is it, by the way?” she sat up, “Not that I’m complaining, just curious.” 

“We thought it was best that the boys don’t know about him. It’s kind of… jarring, I don’t know.” 

“More jarring than your dad disappearing, reappearing, then leaving your mom for two men and moving to a farm in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Oregon?” 

Waylon squinted at her. 

“I kid, but not really,” she pat Waylon on the shoulder, “You’re burning, pass me the sunscreen.” 

He did as he was told but still pouted a bit. The comment had kind of come out of nowhere and startled him. Lisa often made offhanded comments, she had a quick wit to her, and he knew they were all meant as a joke, but something in the way she talked about Miles and Blake rubbed him the wrong way sometimes. 

“I agree we should keep… _Wally_ on the down-low,” she said as she spread the substance across his freckled shoulders, “But honestly they’ve taken things pretty well, I don’t think they would even bat an eye.” 

She finished up, capping the sunscreen bottle and putting it aside. Just as she did, the yellow dog came bounding over, followed closely by Miles, both dripping water onto their towels as they flopped down beside the two. 

“Were you just feeling up my boyfriend?” Miles smirked, pulling a bottle from the cooler. 

“Maybe I was,” Lisa shot back, “You gonna do something about it?” 

“You would easily beat my ass, so no, but I’m gonna imagine it vividly,” he took a sip of his beer and let out a long, content sigh, staring dreamily at the three at the end of the dock. “We’ve been replaced.” 

“I haven’t seen them this happy in months,” Lisa sipped her own drink, “It’s going to be hard getting them to leave.” 

The blond let out a low whine and let himself fall back against Miles, “You guys can just stay, then you won’t have to.” 

“As much as Blake taking care of the boys, your cooking, and Miles’ endless supply of Coronas is tempting, we do have a life back home that we need to get back to one of these days.” 

“Just pretend,” Waylon scratched Margaret’s head, “I’ve been living in the real world too long, just pretend for a minute that this summer is gonna last forever and you never have to go back.” 

Lisa looked at him deeply, then moved her eyes back to the dock, a large, toothy smile on her face. 

“Sure Way,” she patted his knee, “Glad to be here.” 

~~~

“So Mr. Upshur –“ 

“Please, Kelly, I tell you to call me Miles every time I’m in here, it's getting old.” 

The therapist smirked and leaned back in her chair, “So, Miles-“ she paused to watch him pick a book off her shelf and read the title, “I heard that Ms. Park and Waylon’s sons went home a few weeks ago.” 

Miles’ face fell and he put the book back on the shelf, “Yeah, it was pretty tough. Waylon cried a lot, so did Blake and Lisa.” 

“Did you cry?” 

The brunet scoffed and pulled out another book, using it to motion to himself, “Who do you think you’re talking to, Kelly?” 

“So that’s a yes.” 

“Oh yeah, I cried like a little bitch. For like, three days.” 

The woman chuckled and shook her head, “Any chance you could sit down for today’s session?” 

Miles flipped through the pages in the book, “I don’t think so, no.” 

Although throughout their sessions Miles had become quite comfortable, it was clear to Ms. Ueno that he was still defending himself in some ways. He never sat in the chair across from her like Blake and Waylon did, which was fine, but his constant fiddling with things and pacing was sometimes distracting. She knew his personality, matched with his anxious tendencies about opening up, had resulted in this nervous tick. Still, she asked but never pushed. 

“Can you tell me about them? I’ve spoken about them to Waylon and Blake briefly but I don’t think I’ve asked you.” 

“They’re great,” he nodded, staring down at the novel in his hands, “Real great. Lisa’s like, the smartest lady I’ve ever met. She’s super quick, too,” he smiled, “Same with the kids. So smart, I can tell they’re Lisa and Way’s kids.” 

“And how did the boys react to you?” she crossed her legs and leaned back, “They do know the nature of your and Waylon’s relationship, yes?” 

The brunet closed the book and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it. He was thinking about his answer. 

“We haven’t told them explicitly, but they’re not dumb,” he forced the thick book back into an empty space on the shelf, “They act like they’re practically adults, for Christ’s sake.” 

“So you haven’t told them directly, but you have acted as a couple around them?” 

Miles leaned against the wall and pulled a pen from her desk, fiddling it between his remaining intact fingers. “I think they thought we were just… I don’t know, buddies for a while? Then one day Way and I were…” he stared at the pen, “Making breakfast. It was super early so we didn’t expect anybody to get up.” 

She could tell he was fighting back a smirk. 

“We weren’t doing anything… y’know, but I had picked him up and put him on the counter. We were just kissing but-” he sighed, tossing the pen on the desk, “Isaac walked in.” 

“Did he have a negative reaction?” 

“Well, first he had no reaction,” Miles began pacing a bit, arms moving with the story, “I think he was just super tired, poured himself a coffee while I had his dad pinned to the kitchen counter on the other side of the room. He took a sip and then he just kinda –“ his face flushed a bit, “I don’t know, he looked surprised.” 

Kelly wrote something down in her notepad, which worried him. 

“What about after?” 

“He took his coffee and left. Way was mortified, wouldn’t even kiss us the rest of the day,” he finally stood still, running a hand through his hair, “That was one of the first days, and then later in the week Isaac sat me down.” 

“He sat… you down.” 

“Yeah, me and Blake” Miles bit his lip and sat on the arm of the chair, crossing his ankles and interlocking his fingers in his lap, “He gave us the goddamn shovel talk, then the day after so did Lisa.” 

Kelly paused her writing and put the pen to her lips, “Did you feel like this was crossing a line?” 

“No! Not at all! Actually, it was kind of reassuring. They’re important to Waylon, I don’t want them to hate me. Isaac just asked us if we loved him, we said yeah, he said good and that he was glad.” Miles smiled down at his shoes, “Lisa kinda said the same thing, except with a few more adult words.” 

“And when they left,” she wrote a few more notes down, “How did they say goodbye to you?” 

“Ethan hugged us, so did Lisa,” his smile didn’t falter as he continued, “Isaac didn’t, but he shook our hands and he thanked us for taking care of him.” 

Kelly smiled, “That sounds like a very mature young man.” 

“He’s gonna go to Harvard or something, I just know it. Ivy League for sure.” 

Suddenly the therapist stood again, walking over to her shelf and retrieving another notebook. She came back over and settled down again, flipping through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. 

“A few months ago, we talked about your family-“ 

“Not my real family,” Miles frowned. 

“No, but the family back in Texas,” she corrected herself, “You said they kicked you out because of your attraction to men.” 

“Yup.” 

“Aside from Mount Massive, a lot of your insecurities and doubts were rooted in that, would you say so?” 

“I don’t know, doc, you tell me?” 

He was getting defensive again, itching to stand up. 

“I think so. I wonder though, how did it feel to have the Parks accept you? Were you more anxious than Blake because of your past, do you think?” 

Miles visibly deflated, scrubbing his face in his palms with a loud, exasperated sigh. 

“Yeah, ‘sounds about right,” he turned his body towards her, “I was so nervous. I couldn’t let Waylon know, but I was shitting myself the day they arrived. Way kept avoiding me, every time we tried to hold his hand or kiss him he would move away, and it felt like Cory, and suddenly I was nineteen all over again.” He huffed, “Then they found out, and they were so _cool_ with it all, and I think he realized. He wouldn’t stop apologizing. So yeah, this is probably my third big ‘coming out’ I guess, and I’d say it went pretty well, probably my best one yet, if I do say so myself.” 

“I’d say so too,” Kelly grinned, “So, what else is on your mind.”

Miles’ eyes lit up for a second, and he lowered himself onto the couch, earning a wide, accomplished smile from his therapist in return. 

“So, Lisa’s parents invited us over for Christmas dinner-“ 

~~~

It was rather cold. Winter had begun setting in and they were basically snowed in. Sure, it was rough for all of them, but it had been toughest on Margaret, spending most of her time nowadays curled up in front of the wood fireplace in the living room. 

It was absolutely freezing, and with the old retriever hogging their fireplace, they had resorted to hiding under their covers in their large king-sized bed upstairs. Ever since the boys had left, Waylon hadn’t been necessarily upset, but he had been clingier than ever, constantly attached to Blake or Miles, and often sleeping between them as close as possible, using the drop in temperature as an excuse, not that either of them minded. 

They were a very affectionate trio, and were very comfortable with each other at this point, how could they not be? So when they slowly drifted off and awoke in the early morning, sometimes one of them was hard, and it was dealt with, but not always. Blake often held back still from more amorous activities. 

Until one cold morning, after a fairly pleasant dream, when he had woken up to Waylon laying on top of him, both of them hard against each other. Both Miles and the blond were sleep tousled and bundled up under the blankets, looking adorable whilst also being absolutely irresistible, so finally Blake had enough. 

He woke Waylon up with kisses. Long, drawn-out kisses until he woke up and immediately perked at the attention. They began a slow, languid grind, pulling noises from each other that coaxed Miles to wake up and join in. 

That was also the morning that Blake had told them he was ready, and for the fist time in all the months they had been together, Blake let them go all the way. He cried this time, as he entered Miles, as they kissed, as later Waylon entered him, and they made love slow and sweet, at Blake’s pace, and never once did he ever regret it or consider backing out. This was how it was supposed to be. This was what he needed all this time. 

Later that week they had their group therapy session, and Miles had said it was a good point that they should probably bring up. Both Waylon and Blake agreed. 

Kelly was absolutely delighted with the news, and congratulated him. She said it was a big step and she was glad they could all come this far. Miles held back a joke at that point, knowing it was not really the appropriate moment. 

Still, sometimes Blake was reluctant, and that was okay, but many things had gotten easier. Finally they could go to the store by themselves, Blake’s hands healed completely and he was getting back into music on top of his job at the local news station, to keep busy Waylon had started taking jobs around town and at the local elementary school, and Miles had finished the case he was working on which earned him a spot on the local newspaper, and a homepage article on a very credible news site, which they all thought was pretty neat.

Their days started with breakfast together, then they went to their jobs, and the rest of the day was each other. Once a month they would visit their therapist, discuss their progress, then they would have a group session at the end. In the afternoon they would make dinner together, unless one of them was late, then they would watch a film or a few episodes of a show, sometimes they would put on soft music and read, sometimes they would put on loud music and dance. 

Days when Murkoff was in the news were rough. The mood would shift, often they would mope around, but still pay close attention to the case and how it was coming along. The Walrider could not handle these days, many times it had disappeared into the lake or forest beside the house, not to be seen again for hours, maybe days, but if it strayed too far from Miles for too long they would both become sick, and neither wanted that. 

One day Blake was sitting on the patio, tuning his guitar in a lawn chair while he waited for the others to return home from work when the Walrider returned. Blake had become accustomed to its presence, but he always held it at arm’s length. He had always been a cautious man, and it respected this. 

Until they had started calling it ‘him’ instead of ‘it’ and ‘Wally’ instead of ‘Walrider’, which it preferred immensely. The Walrider had all the qualities of a person apart from a human body, it had learned to feel, speak, and love these men, it had become a part of their life. 

So as Blake tuned his guitar, it rested (it wasn’t really sitting, more just hovering) in the seat beside him, usually occupied by Miles, and it waited. It waited for a cue of some sort that Blake was fine with it being there, to accept its presence. 

“Where do you run off to?” Blake asked, continuing his musings. 

_**”Sometimes I hunt,”**_ it explained, _**”I was created to hunt.”**_

Blake nodded and strummed a few chords, “And other times?” 

The Walrider’s body softened, its buzzing quieting slightly, _**”I do not think you wish to know.”**_

The green-eyed man stopped, thinking back to the news report that had caused the Walrider to leave them this time. It was about a Murkoff executive, said to appear in court shortly, found murdered in his office. It must have been their Walrider, but the man did not say anything further. It was aware that he knew, they just didn’t need to acknowledge it out loud.

“Why do you stick around, Wally?” 

It looked at him. Somehow. It didn’t have eyes. 

“You could leave. We all know you could take Miles and leave. You could get revenge on Murkoff, live the life you were created for, why don’t you?” 

_**”If I kill the entirety of the Murkoff Corporation and her sister companies, what will become of me after? What purpose will I serve?”**_ it did not speak often, but when it did Blake usually found himself a bit unsettled, but this time he understood, _**”I do not wish to shed blood my whole life, though that was what I was originally intended to do. I am not a weapon anymore, you have seen to that. Waylon and Miles give you purpose, you three give me my own.”**_

“That makes sense, I guess…” he scratched the stubble growing across his chin, “I’m sorry. I should have known.” 

In the beginning, if you had told Blake he would be speaking to the Walrider without fear, as an equal, evening using a nickname for the creature, he would have laughed in your face. 

_**”Blake,”**_ as it spoke its voice changed, almost sounded a bit embarrassed, _**”Miles is rather fond of the song ‘Rhiannon’, do you know of it?”**_

“Oh yeah, of course,” it began to rain slightly as he plucked the chords slightly, listening for the tune, “Why do you ask?” 

_**”Do you think that… you could play it for me?”**_

Despite the long talons, emotionless face, and intimidatingly large, inky body, Blake couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across his face at the creature’s sudden bashfulness. 

“Sure thing, Wally,” he played the opening chords, “I’ll try.” 

~~~

It was three years later when they got the news. 

Waylon was talking with a teacher, Rene (or Ms. Gregory), at the school he was currently working at, one that he had gotten particularly close to these past few months while he worked at this secondary school. She was nice, a bit naïve, but she was the only one at the school younger than him and didn’t treat him differently even though he was thirty-nine, didn’t wear a wedding band, and didn’t really talk about a family. 

He was still getting used to wearing glasses, having needed that only recently, and it was quite a change for him. Miles had assured him they were sexy, but there was nothing sexy but crawling under a century old school to get to a switchboard and returning to the surface with dust and grime and who knows what else covering his lenses. Today he had done just that, and was now working on setting up some computers for Rene in her homeroom, trying not to get frustrated as the clunky, uncomfortable things shifted down his nose. 

“Hey, you just got a text.”

“Oh,” Waylon spoke from under the table, “Can you read it to me? I’ve got my hands full.” 

Rene picked up the phone, “It says _from Blake: New news about the Murkoff case.”_

He peaked his head out from under the desk, pausing his work with the computer. 

“That Murkoff case? The asylum scandal that happened a few years back?” she looked down at him, “Why are you getting texts about it?”

He tried to act casual, rolling himself back under the table so she wouldn’t see his face, hearing another ding from his phone. 

“Just followed it over the years. What about it?” 

She began reading another text, “The case settled today, their entire corporation is shutting down. Hey, who’s Blake?” 

Waylon jumped up suddenly, almost losing his glasses in the process. 

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ he practically shouted at the younger woman. 

“Th-The case settled, and the executives th-that are still alive are all going to jail-“ 

He thrust the remaining spare part into her hands and ripped the phone from her, “Hold on a sec.” 

Before she knew it he pacing back and forth, dialling a familiar number as he ran his hands through his sandy blond curls and waited for the line to pick up. 

_**”Waylon,”**_ came the Walrider’s monotonous voice through the static it was causing, _**”How is work?”**_

“It’s good, Wally, could you please put Miles on the phone?” 

_**”He is already on the phone with Isaac.”** _

“What?” Waylon’s brow furrowed, “What are they talking about?” 

_**”Lisa’s birthday plans and-"**_ it paused to listen in, _**”Murkoff, I believe.”**_

“Wally, did you hear the case settled?” 

_**”Yes, I am ecstatic.”** _

This phrase heard from such an emotionless voice would have been comical for anybody else. 

“Me too! We should celebrate!” he smiled into the phone, “When Miles gets off the phone, tell him I’ll be home soon, okay?” 

_**”I will do that, Waylon. I love you, please stay safe, the roads are covered in precipitation.”** _

Waylon chuckled quietly, “Sure thing, Wally, I love you too.” 

They both hung up and when Waylon turned around his smile fell a bit, realizing he had that entire conversation in front of his colleague. 

“So…” she began, “Is Wally your son?” 

Waylon took the part from her and quickly got back to work, eager to finish and get home. 

“Uh, you could say that, I guess.” 

“You know, I just…” he could hear the curiosity in her voice, “You never talk about your family, you never invite anybody over, but you’re always on the phone. Plus, you’re pretty handsome, so I would expect to see or at least hear about a wife sometime.” 

The piece he was fitting into place was giving him a bit of trouble, but he was trying not to get frustrated. 

“I’m not married.” 

“But you have a son?” 

“Two sons,” he corrected, “Isaac and Ethan. They’re sixteen and nineteen.” 

“I thought your son’s name was Wally?” 

Damn, she caught him. 

“Y-Yeah Wally is…” he thought for a second, “In our care right now.” 

“Oh, like a foster child. You and your girlfriend? Fiancé?” 

Waylon shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the floor. In the three years he had lived in this town, he had managed to stay quiet and unnoticed; this is what he got for letting himself make a friend. 

“Boyfriends,” he muttered, “Two.” 

“Oh,” she sputtered, **”Oh.”**

He prepared himself for the oncoming onslaught of inappropriate questions. 

“Is that… is Blake the one who dropped you off the other day while your car was in the shop?” 

“No, that’s Miles,” he explained, “Blake is the one who brought me lunch on Tuesday.” 

“That makes sense,” she tapped the table a bit and huffed a loud breath, obviously itching to ask more questions. “So like… did you adopt or get a surrogate?” 

Waylon let out a loud, drawn-out groan, which made her panic. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I just-“ she hid her face in her hands, “I’ve never met a gay person before, o-or somebody who was with two people-“ 

“It’s fine,” Waylon spat through gritted teeth as he screwed a stubborn nail into place, eager to finish. “I used to have a wife, actually, the kids are from her.” 

“I wondered why they didn’t go here,” she sat quietly for a moment, the silence deafening. 

“You want to ask another question.” 

“No I don’t!” 

“Rene,” Waylon shot her a look from under the table. 

“Oh alright, I just-“ she bit her lip, “How does it work? Sometimes my fiancé is a piece of work, how do you handle two?”

The blond under the desk finished screwing in the last bolt and stood up, pulling his phone from the table. 

“Tell you what, next week you can come over for dinner, and you can see for yourself.” 

“Sweet,” she grinned, “Thanks by the way, for the computer and… answering my questions.” 

“No problem,” he turned on his heels for a hasty retreat. 

“Hey Waylon?” his shoulders tensed as he turned around, “What’s so important about Murkoff?” 

The shorter man turned around completely, running a hand through his hair and shoving the other in his pocket. 

“We uh- We knew some people in there. In Mount Massive.” 

“Really?” he nodded, “I’m sorry, I hope they get the justice they deserve.” 

“You know what, Rene?” he smiled, “I think they did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, I hope your mom enjoyed, I hope Waylon, Blake, and Miles all get what they deserve in the end, I hope this fic didn't take too many years off my life, but it probably did.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give me any feedback you have, and let me know what you think! It's always interesting to hear other people's theories.


End file.
